CROOKED 
TRAILS 


WRITTEN  AND 
ILLUSTRATED  BY 

FREDERIC   REMINGTON 

AUTHOR  OF  "PONY  TRACKS" 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
HARPER  &   BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 


BOOKS  BY 
FREDERIC  REMINGTON 

PCNY  TRACKS.     Illustrated.     8vo 
CROOKED  TRAILS.     Illustrated.     8vo 
SUNDOWN  LEFLA.RB.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo 
STORIES  OP  -PUAQS  AND  WAR-.  ;  Y$rao  - 
MBN  WITH  THB  BARK  ON.    Ill'd.  "Post  8vo 

HARPER.  &  BROTHERS;  PUBLISHERS, 


Copyright,  1898,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 


PAGR 

HOW  THE  LAW  GOT  INTO  THE  CHAPARRAL I 

THE  BLUE  QUAIL  OF  THE  CACTUS 21 

A  SERGEANT  OF  THE  ORPHAN  TROOP 33 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  MAHONGUI 52 

THE  ESSENTIALS  AT  FORT  ADOBE 63. 

MASSAI'S  CROOKED  TRAIL 79- 

JOSHUA  GOODENOUGH'S  OLD  LETTER 92 

CRACKER  COWBOYS  OF  FLORIDA 116 

THE  STRANGE  DAYS  THAT  CAME  TO  JIMMIE  FRIDAY     .  127 

THE  SOLEDAD  GIRLS 145 


M57595 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


TEXAS    RANGERS Frontispiece 

THE   CHARGE  AND  KILLING  OF  PADRE  JARANTE  .      .   Facing  p.  6 

PRISONERS  DRAWING  THEIR  BEANS  .  "  12 


LUNCHEON  IN  THE  DESERT 22 

SUPPER  IN  THE  CORRAL "  24 

"MILE  AFTER  MILE  RUSHED  THE  LITTLE  COLUMN"  36 

"THE  HORSES  ASSEMBLED  IN  A  SIDE  CANON"  .     .     .  "  38 

"THE  TWO  MEN  CLIMBED  SLOWLY" "  40 

"THE  BRAVE  CHEYENNES  WERE  RUNNING  THROUGH 

THE  FROSTY  HILLS " "  44 

"THIS  WAS  A  FATAL  EMBARQUATION  " "  52 

THE  OMEN  OF  THE  LITTLE  BLUE  BIRDS "  58 

"YE    SPIRIT    DOGG    STRODE    FROM    YE    DARKNESS    & 

SAID     IT     WAS     TIME" "  60 

JUMPING    ON    A    HORSE "  70 

THE   PURSUIT "  74 

THE    ATTACK    ON    THE    COSSACK    POSTS "  76 

NATASTALE          "  80 

THE   ARREST    OF    THE    SCOUT "  82 

SCOUTS "  86 

THE   MARCH   OF  ROGERS'S  RANGERS "  IOO 

PADDLING  THE  WOUNDED  BRITISH  OFFICER      .       .       .  "  IIO 
THE    CAPTURE    OF   THE    FRENCH   GRENADIER    ...  "  112 
"  ABOUT    FOUR    DOLLARS    WORTH    OF    CLOTHES    BE 
TWEEN  THEM" ".  ££<? 

v 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

A  CRACKER  COWBOY Facing  p.  118 

FIGHTING  OVER  A  STOLEN  HERD "  I2O 

IN  WAIT  FOR  AN  ENEMY "  132 

A  BIT  OF  COW  COUNTRY "  324 

COWBOYS  WRESTLING  A  BULL "  126 

"IT  IS  STRANGE  HOW  ONE  CAN  ACCUSTOM  HIMSELF 

TO  'PACK'" "  132 

"DOWN  THE  RIVER  ON  A  GOLDEN  MORNING*'  ...  "•  134 

A  REAL  CAMP "  136 

ROUGH  WATER "  138 

'THE  INDIANS  USED  'SETTING-POLES"?  ....  "  140 


CROOKED  TRAILS 


HOW   THE    LAW 
GOT   INTO   THE    CHAPARRAL 


"You  have  heard  about  the  Texas  Rangers?" 
said  the  Deacon  to  me  one  night  in  the  San  An 
tonio  Club.  "  Yes  ?  Well,  come  up  to  my  rooms, 
and  I  will  introduce  you  to  one  of  the  old  originals 
— dates  'way  back  in  the  '  thirties  ' — there  aren't 
many  of  them  left  now — and  if  we  can  get  him  to 
talk,  he  will  tell  you  stories  that  will  make  your 
eyes  hang  out  on  your  shirt  front." 

We  entered  the  Deacon's  cosey  bachelor  apart 
ments,  where  I  was  introduced  to  Colonel  "  Rip " 
Ford,  of  the  old-time  Texas  Rangers.  I  found 
him  a  very  old  man,  with  a  wealth  of  snow  -  white 
hair  and  beard — bent,  but  not  withered.  As  he 
sunk  on  his  stiffened  limbs  into  the  arm-chair,  we 
disposed  ourselves  quietly  and  almost  reverentially, 
while  we  lighted  cigars.  We  began  the  approaches 
by  which  we  hoped  to  loosen  the  history  of  a  wild 
past  from  one  of  the  very  few  tongues  which  can 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

still  wag  on  the  days  when  the  Texans,  the  Co 
manches,  and  the  Mexicans  chased  one  another 
over  the  plains  of  Texas,  and  shot  and  stabbed  to 
find  who  should  inherit  the  land. 

Through  the  veil  of  tobacco  smoke  the  ancient 
warrior  spoke  his  sentences  slowly,  at  intervals,  as 
his  mind  gradually  separated  and  arranged  the 
details  of  countless  fights.  His  head  bowed  in 
thought ;  anon  it  rose  sharply  at  recollections,  and 
as  he  breathed,  the  shouts  and  lamentations  of 
crushed  men — the  yells  and  shots — the  thunder  of 
horses'  hoofs — the  full  fury  of  the  desert  combats 
came  to  the  pricking  ears  of  the  Deacon  and  me. 

We  saw  through  the  smoke  the  brave  young 
faces  of  the  hosts  which  poured  into  Texas  to  war 
with  the  enemies  of  their  race.  They  were  clad  in 
loose  hunting -frocks,  leather  leggings,  and  broad 
black  hats ;  had  powder-horns  and  shot-pouches 
hung  about  them ;  were  armed  with  bowie-knives, 
Mississippi  rifles,  and  horse-pistols ;  rode  Spanish 
ponies,  and  were  impelled  by  Destiny  to  conquer, 
like  their  remote  ancestors,  "  the  godless  hosts  of 
Pagan  "  who  "  came  swimming  o'er  the  Northern 
Sea." 

"  Rip "  Ford  had  not  yet  acquired  his  front 
name  in  1836,  when  he  enlisted  in  the  famous 
Captain  Jack  Hayes's  company  of  Rangers,  which 
was  fighting  the  Mexicans  in  those  days,  and  also 


HOW   THE   LAW   GOT   INTO   THE   CHAPARRAL 

trying  incidentally  to  keep  from  being  eaten  up  by 
the  Comanches. 

Said  the  old  Colonel :  "  A  merchant  from  our 
country  journeyed  to  New  York,  and  Colonel  Colt, 
who  was  a  friend  of  his,  gave  him  two  five-shooters 
— pistols  they  were,  and  little  things.  The  mer 
chant  in  turn  presented  them  to  Captain  Jack 
Hayes.  The  captain  liked  them  so  well  that  he 
did  not  rest  till  every  man  jack  of  us  had  two 
apiece. 

"  Directly,"  mused  the  ancient  one,  with  a  smile 
of  pleasant  recollection,  "  we  had  a  fight  with  the 
Comanches — up  here  above  San  Antonio.  Hayes 
had  fifteen  men  with  him — he  was  doubling  about 
the  country  for  Indians.  He  found  '  sign,'  and 
after  cutting  their  trail  several  times  he  could  see 
that  they  were  following  him.  Directly  the  Ind 
ians  overtook  the  Rangers  —  there  were  seventy- 
five  Indians.  Captain  Hayes — bless  his  memory ! 
— said,'  They  are  fixin'  to  charge  us,  boys,  and  we 
must  charge  them.'  There  were  never  better  men 
in  this  world  than  Hayes  had  with  him,"  went  on 
the  Colonel  with  pardonable  pride ;  "  and  mind  you, 
he  never  made  a  fight  without  winning. 

"  We  charged,  and  in  the  fracas  killed  thirty-five 
Indians — only  two  of  our  men  were  wounded — so 
you  see  the  five-shooters  were  pretty  good  weap 
ons.  Of  course  they  wa'n't  any  account  compared 

3 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

with  these  modern  ones,  because  they  were  too 
small,  but  they  did  those  things.  Just  after  that 
Colonel  Colt  was  induced  to  make  bigger  ones 
for  us,  some  of  which  were  half  as  long  as  your 
arm. 

"  Hayes  ?  Oh,  he  was  a  surveyor,  and  used  to 
go  out  beyond  the  frontiers  about  his  work.  The 
Indians  used  to  jump  him  pretty  regular ;  but  he 
always  whipped  them,  and  so  he  was  available  for 
a  Ranger  captain.  About  then — let's  see,"  and 
here  the  old  head  bobbed  up  from  his  chest,  where 
it  had  sunk  in  thought — "  there  was  a  commerce 
with  Mexico  just  sprung  up,  but  this  was  later — it 
only  shows  what  that  man  Hayes  used  to  do.  The 
bandits  used  to  waylay  the  traders,  and  they  got 
very  bad  in  the  country.  Captain  Hayes  went 
after  them — he  struck  them  near  Lavade,  and 
found  the  Mexicans  had  more  than  twice  as  many 
men  as  he  did ;  but  he  caught  them  napping, 
charged  them  afoot — killed  twenty-five  of  them, 
and  got  all  their  horses." 

"  I  suppose,  Colonel,  you  have  been  charged  by  a 
Mexican  lancer?"  I  inquired. 

"  Oh  yes,  many  times,"  he  answered. 

"  What  did  you  generally  do  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  in  those  days  I  reckoned  to  be 
able  to  hit  a  man  every  time  with  a  six-shooter  at 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  yards,"  explained  the 

4 


HOW  THE  LAW  GOT  INTO  THE  CHAPARRAL 

old  gentleman — which  no  doubt  meant  many  dead 
lancers. 

u  Then  you  do  not  think  much  of  a  lance  as  a 
weapon  ?"  I  pursued. 

"  No ;  there  is  but  one  weapon.  The  six-shooter 
when  properly  handled  is  the  only  weapon — mind 
you,  sir,  I  say  properly"  and  here  the  old  eyes 
blinked  rapidly  over  the  great  art  as  he  knew  its 
practice. 

"  Then,  of  course,  the  rifle  has  its  use.  Under 
Captain  Jack  Hayes  sixty  of  us  made  a  raid  once 
after  the  celebrated  priest  -  leader  of  the  Mexicans 
— Padre  Jarante — which  same  was  a  devil  of  a  fel 
low.  We.were  very  sleepy — had  been  two  nights 
without  sleep.  At  San  Juan  every  man  stripped 
his  horse,  fed,  and  went  to  sleep.  We  had  passed 
Padre  Jarante  in  the  night  without  knowing  it. 
At  about  twelve  o'clock  next  day  there  was  a  ter 
rible  outcry — I  was  awakened  by  shooting.  The 
Padre  was  upon  us.  Five  men  outlying  stood  the 
charge,  and  went  under.  We  gathered,  and  the 
Padre  charged  three  times.  The  third  time  he 
was  knocked  from  his  horse  and  killed.  Then 
Captain  Jack  Hayes  awoke,  and  we  got  in  a  big 
casa.  The  men  took  to  the  roof.  As  the  Mexi 
cans  passed  we  emptied  a  great  many  saddles. 
As  I  got  to  the  top  of  the  casa  I  found  two  men 
quarrelling."  (Here  the  Colonel  chuckled.)  "  I 

5 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

asked  what  the  matter  was,  and  they  were  both 
claiming  to  have  killed  a  certain  Mexican  who 
was  lying  dead  some  way  off.  One  said  he  had 
hit  him  in  the  head,  and  the  other  said  he  had  hit 
him  in  the  breast.  I  advised  peace  until  after  the 
fight.  Well — after  the  shooting  was  over  and  the 
Padre's  men  had  had  enough,  we  went  out  to 
the  particular  Mexican  who  was  dead,  and,  sure 
enough,  he  was  shot  in  the  head  and  in  the 
breast ;  so  they  laughed  and  made  peace.  About 
this  time  one  of  the  spies  came  in  and  reported 
six  hundred  Mexicans  coming.  We  made  an  ex 
amination  of  our  ammunition,  and  found  that  we 
couldn't  afford  to  fight  six  hundred  Mexicans  with 
sixty  men,  so  we  pulled  out.  This  was  in  the 
Mexican  war,  and  only  goes  to  show  that  Captain 
Hayes's  men  could  shoot  all  the  Mexicans  that 
could  get  to  them  if  the  ammunition  would  hold 
out."  ' 

"  What  was  the  most  desperate  fight  you  can 
remember,  Colonel  ?" 

The  old  man  hesitated ;  this  required  a  particu 
lar  point  of  view — it  was  quality,  not  quantity, 
wanted  now;  and,  to  be  sure,  he  was  a  connoisseur. 
After  much  study  by  the  Colonel,  during  which  the 
world  lost  many  thrilling  tales,  the  one  which  sur 
vived  occurred  in  1851. 

"  My  lieutenant,  Ed  Burleson,  was  ordered  to 

6 


HOW  THE  LAW  GOT  INTO   THE  CHAPARRAL 

carry  to  San  Antonio  an  Indian  prisoner  we  had 
taken  and  turned  over  to  the  commanding  officer 
at  Fort  Mclntosh.  On  his  return,  while  nearing 
the  Nueces  River,  he  spied  a  couple  of  Indians. 
Taking  seven  men,  he  ordered  the  balance  to  con 
tinue  along  the  road.  The  two  Indians  proved  to 
be  fourteen,  and  they  charged  Burleson  up  to  the 
teeth.  Dismounting  his  men,  he  poured  it  into 
them  from  his  Colt's  six -shooting  rifles.  They 
killed  or  wounded  all  the  Indians  except  two, 
some  of  them  dying  so  near  the  Rangers  that  they 
could  put  their  hands  on  their  boots.  All  but  one 
of  Burleson's  men  were  wounded — himself  shot  in 
the  head  with  an  arrow.  One  man  had  four  *  dog 
wood  switches  '  *  in  his  body,  one  of  which  was  in 
his  bowels.  This  man  told  me  that  every  time  he 
raised  his  gun  to  fire,  the  Indians  would  stick  an 
arrow  in  him,  but  he  said  he  didn't  care  a  cent. 
One  Indian  was  lying  right  up  close,  and  while 
dying  tried  to  shoot  an  arrow,  but  his  strength 
failed  so  fast  that  the  arrow  only  barely  left  the 
bowstring.  One  of  the  Rangers  in  that  fight  was 
a  curious  fellow — when  young  he  had  been  capt 
ured  by  Indians,  and  had  lived  with  them  so  long 
that  he  had  Indian  habits.  In  that  fight  he  kept 
jumping  around  when  loading,  so  as  to  be  a  bad 

*  Arrows. 
7 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

target,  the  same  as  an  Indian  would  under  the 
circumstances,  and  he  told  Burleson  he  wished  he 
had  his  boots  off,  so  he  could  get  around  good  " — 
and  here  the  Colonel  paused  quizzically.  "  Would 
you  call  that  a  good  fight  ?" 

The  Deacon  and  I  put  the  seal  of  our  approval 
on  the  affair,  and  the  Colonel  rambled  ahead. 

"  In  1858  I  was  commanding  the  frontier  battal 
ion  of  State  troops  on  the  whole  frontier,  and  had 
my  camp  on  the  Deer  Fork  of  the  Brazos.  The 
Comanches  kept  raiding  the  settlements.  They 
would  come  down  quietly,  working  well  into  the 
white  lines,  and  then  go  back  a-running — driving 
stolen  stock  and  killing  and  burning.  I  thought  I 
would  give  them  some  of  their  own  medicine.  I 
concluded  to  give  them  a  fight.  I  took  two  wag 
ons,  one  hundred  Rangers,  and  one  hundred  and 
thirteen  Tahuahuacan  Indians,  who  were  friend- 
lies.  We  struck  a  good  Indian  trail  on  a  stream 
which  led  up  to  the  Canadian.  We  followed  it 
till  it  got  hot.  I  camped  my  outfit  in  such  a  man 
ner  as  to  conceal  my  force,  and  sent  out  my  scouts, 
who  saw  the  Indians  hunt  buffalo  through  spy 
glasses.  That  night  we  moved.  I  sent  Indians 
to  locate  the  camp.  They  returned  before  day, 
and  reported  that  the  Indians  were  just  a  few 
miles  ahead,  whereat  we  moved  forward.  At  day 
break,  I  remember,  I  was  standing  in  the  bull- 

8 


HOW  THE  LAW  GOT  INTO  THE  CHAPARRAL 

wagon  road  leading  to  Santa  Fe  and  could  see  the 
Canadian  River  in  our  front — with  eighty  lodges 
just  beyond.  Counting  four  men  of  fighting  age 
to  a  lodge,  that  made  a  possible  three  hundred  and 
twenty  Indians.  Just  at  sunup  an  Indian  came 
across  the  river  on  a  pony.  Our  Indians  down 
below  raised  a  yell  —  they  always  get  excited. 
The  Indian  heard  them — it  was  very  still  then. 
The  Indian  retreated  slowly,  and  began  to  ride  in 
a  circle.  From  where  I  was  I  could  hear  him  puff 
like  a  deer — he  was  blowing  the  bullets  away  from 
himself — he  was  a  medicine-man.  I  heard  five 
shots  from  the  Jagers  with  which  my  Indians  were 
armed.  The  painted  pony  of  the  medicine-man 
jumped  ten  feet  in  the  air,  it  seemed  to  me,  and 
fell  over  on  his  rider — then  five  more  Jagers  went 
off,  and  he  was  dead.  I  ordered  the  Tahuahuacans 
out  in  front,  and  kept  the  Rangers  out  of  sight, 
because  I  wanted  to  charge  home  and  kind  of  sur 
prise  them.  Pretty  soon  I  got  ready,  and  gave  the 
word.  We  charged.  At  the  river  we  struck  some 
boggy  ground  and  floundered  around  considerable, 
but  we  got  through.  We  raised  the  Texas  yell, 
and  away  we  went.  I  never  expect  again  to  hear 
such  a  noise — I  never  want  to  hear  it — what  with 
the  whoops  of  the  warriors — the  screaming  of  the 
women  and  children — our  boys  yelling — the  shoot 
ing,  and  the  horses  just  a-mixin'  up  and  a-stam- 

9 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

pedin'  around,"  and  the  Colonel  bobbed  his  head 
slowly  as  he  continued. 

"  One  of  my  men  didn't  know  a  buck  from  a 
squaw.  There  was  an  Indian  woman  on  a  pony 
with  five  children.  He  shot  the  pony — it  seemed 
like  you  couldn't  see  that  pony  for  little  Indians. 
We  went  through  the  camp,  and  the  Indians  pulled 
out — spreading  fanlike,  and  we  a- running  them. 
After  a  long  chase  I  concluded  to  come  back.  I 
saw  lots  of  Indians  around  in  the  hills.  When 
I  got  back,  I  found  Captain  Ross  had  formed  my 
men  in  line.  '  What  time  in  the  morning  is  it  ?' 
I  asked.  '  Morning,  hell !'  says  he — '  it's  one  o'clock !' 
And  so  it  was.  Directly  I  saw  an  Indian  coming 
down  a  hill  near  by,  and  then  more  Indians  and 
more  Indians — till  it  seemed  like  they  wa'n't  ever 
going  to  get  through  coming.  We  had  struck  a 
bigger  outfit  than  the  first  one.  That  first  Indian 
he  bantered  my  men  to  come  out  single-handed 
and  fight  him.  One  after  another,  he  wounded 
five  of  my  Indians.  I  ordered  my  Indians  to 
engage  them,  and  kind  of  get  them  down  in  the 
flat,  where  I  could  charge.  After  some  running 
and  shooting  they  did  this,  and  I  turned  the 
Rangers  loose.  We  drove  them.  The  last  stand 
they  made  they  killed  one  of  my  Indians,  wounded 
a  Ranger,  but  left  seven  of  their  dead  in  a  pile. 
It  was  now  nearly  nightfall,  and  I  discovered  that 

10 


HOW   THE   LAW   GOT   INTO   THE   CHAPARRAL 

my  horses  were  broken  down  after  fighting  all  day. 
I  found  it  hard  to  restrain  my  men,  they  had  got 
so  heated  up ;  but  I  gradually  withdrew  to  where 
the  fight  commenced.  The  Indian  camp  was 
plundered.  In  it  we  found  painted  buffalo-robes 
with  beads  a  hand  deep  around  the  edges — the 
finest  robes  I  have  ever  seen — and  heaps  of  goods 
plundered  from  the  Santa  Fe  traders.  On  the 
way  back  I  noticed  a  dead  chief,  and  was  for  a 
moment  astonished  to  find  pieces  of  flesh  cut  oat 
of  him ;  upon  looking  at  a  Tahuahuacan  warrior 
I  saw  a  pair  of  dead  hands  tied  behind  his  saddle. 
That  night  they  had  a  cannibal  feast.  You  see, 
the  Tahuahuacans  say  that  the  first  one  of  their 
race  was  brought  into  the  world  by  a  wolf.  '  How 
am  I  to  live  ?'  said  the  Tahuahuacan.  '  The  same 
as  we  do,'  said  the  wolf ;  and  when  they  were  with 
me,  that  is  just  about  how  they  lived.  I  reckon 
it's  necessary  to  tell  you  about  the  old  woman  who 
was  found  in  our  lines.  She  was  looking  at  the 
sun  and  making  incantations,  a-cussing  us  out 
generally  and  elevating  her  voice.  She  said  the 
Comanches  would  get  even  for  this  day's  work. 
I  directed  my  Indians  to  let  her  alone,  but  I  was 
informed  afterwards  that  that  is  just  what  they 
didn't  do." 

At  this  point  the  Colonel's  cigar  went  out,  and 
directly  he  followed;   but  this  is  the  manner  in 

ii 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

which  he  told  of  deeds  which  I  know  would  fare 
better  at  the  hands  of  one  used  to  phrasing  and 
capable  also  of  more  points  of  view  than  the  Colo 
nel  was  used  to  taking.  The  outlines  of  the  thing 
are  strong,  however,  because  the  Deacon  and  I 
understood  that  fights  were  what  the  old  Colonel 
had  dealt  in  during  his  active  life,  much  as  other 
men  do  in  stocks  and  bonds  or  wheat  and  corn. 
He  had  been  a  successful  operator,  and  only  recalled 
pleasantly  the  bull  quotations.  This  type  of  Ranger 
is  all  but  gone.  A  few  may  yet  be  found  in  outly 
ing  ranches.  One  of  the  most  celebrated  resides 
near  San  Antonio — "  Big-foot  Wallace  "  by  name. 
He  says  he  doesn't  mind  being  called  "  Big-foot,'3 
because  he  is  six  feet  two  in  height,  and  is  entitled 
to  big  feet  His  face  is  done  off  in  a  nest  of  white 
hair  and  beard,  and  is  patriarchal  in  character. 
In  1836  he  came  out  from  Virginia  to  "  take  toll " 
of  the  Mexicans  for  killing  some  relatives  of  his  in 
the  Fannin  Massacre,  and  he  considers  that  he 
has  squared  his  accounts;  but  they  had  him  on  the 
debit  side  for  a  while.  Being  captured  in  the  Meir 
expedition,  he  walked  as  a  prisoner  to  the  city  of 
Mexico,  and  did  public  work  for  that  country  with 
a  ball-and-chain  attachment  for  two  years.  The 
prisoners  overpowered  the  guards  and  escaped  on 
one  occasion,  but  were  overtaken  by  Mexican  cav 
alry  while  dying  of  thirst  in  a  desert.  Santa  Anna 

12 


HOW  THE  LAW  GOT  INTO  THE  CHAPARRAL 

ordered  their  "  decimation,"  which  meant  that  every 
tenth  man  was  shot,  their  lot  being  determined  by 
the  drawing  of  a  black  bean  from  an  earthen  pot 
containing  a  certain  proportion  of  white  ones. 
"Big-foot"  drew  a  white  one.  He  was  also  a 
member  of  Captain  Hayes's  company,  afterwards 
a  captain  of  Rangers,  and  a  noted  Indian-fighter. 
Later  he  carried  the  mails  from  San  Antonio  to 
El  Paso  through  a  howling  wilderness,  but  always 
brought  it  safely  through — if  safely  can  be  called 
lying  thirteen  days  by  a  water-hole  in  the  desert, 
waiting  for  a  broken  leg  to  mend,  and  living  mean 
while  on  one  prairie-wolf,  which  he  managed  to 
shoot.  Wallace  was  a  professional  hunter,  who 
fought  Indians  and  hated  "greasers";  he  belongs 
to  the  past,  and  has  been  "  outspanned  "  under  a 
civilization  in  which  he  has  no  place,  and  is  to-day 
living  in  poverty. 

The  civil  war  left  Texas  under  changed  con 
ditions.  That  and  the  Mexican  wars  had  deter 
mined  its  boundaries,  however,  and  it  rapidly  filled 
up  with  new  elements  of  population.  Broken 
soldiers,  outlaws,  poor  immigrants  living  in  bull- 
wagons,  poured  in.  "  Gone  to  Texas  "  had  a  sin 
ister  significance  in  the  late  sixties.  When  the 
railroad  got  to  Abilene,  Kansas,  the  cow-men  of 
Texas  found  a  market  for  their  stock,  and  began 
trailing  their  herds  up  through  the  Indian  country, 

'3 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

Bands  of  outlaws  organized  under  the  leadership 
of  desperadoes  like  Wes  Hardin  and  King  Fisher. 
They  rounded  up  cattle  regardless  of  their  owners' 
rights,  and  resisted  interference  with  force.  The 
poor  man  pointed  to  his  brand  in  the  stolen  herd 
and  protested.  He  was  shot.  The  big  owners 
were  unable  to  protect  themselves  from  loss.  The 
property  right  was  established  by  the  six-shooter, 
and  honest  men  were  forced  to  the  wall.  In  1876 
the  property-holding  classes  went  to  the  Legislat 
ure,  got  it  to  appropriate  a  hundred  thousand  dol 
lars  a  year  for  two  years,  and  the  Ranger  force  was 
reorganized  to  carry  the  law  into  the  chaparral. 
At  this  time  many  judges  were  in  league  with 
bandits ;  sheriffs  were  elected  by  the  outlaws,  and 
the  electors  were  cattle-stealers. 

The  Rangers  were  sworn  to  uphold  the  laws  of 
Texas  and  the  United  States.  They  were  deputy 
sheriffs,  United  States  marshals — in  fact,  were 
often  vested  with  any  and  every  power,  even  to  the 
extent  of  ignoring  disreputable  sheriffs.  At  times 
they  were  judge,  jury,  and  executioner  when  the 
difficulties  demanded  extremes.  When  a  band  of 
outlaws  was  located,  detectives  or  spies  were  sent 
among  them,  who  openly  joined  the  desperadoes, 
and  gathered  evidence  to  put  the  Rangers  on  their 
trail.  Then,  in  the  wilderness,  with  only  the  soar 
ing  buzzard  or  prowling  coyote  to  look  on,  the 

14 


HOW  THE  LAW   GOT   INTO   THE   CHAPARRAL 

Ranger  and  the  outlaw  met  to  fight  with  tigerish 
ferocity  to  the  death.  Shot,  and  lying  prone,  they 
fired  until  the  palsied  arm  could  no  longer  raise 
the  six-shooter,  and  justice  was  satisfied  as  their 
bullets  sped.  The  captains  had  the  selection  of 
their  men,  and  the  right  to  dishonorably  discharge 
at  will.  Only  men  of  irreproachable  character, 
who  were  fine  riders  and  dead-shots,  were  taken. 
The  spirit  of  adventure  filled  the  ranks  with  the 
most  prominent  young  men.  in  the  State,  and  to 
have  been  a  Ranger  is  a  badge  of  distinction  in 
Texas  to  this  day.  The  display  of  anything  but  a 
perfect  willingness  to  die  under  any  and  all  circum 
stances  was  fatal  to  a  Ranger,  and  in  course  of  time 
they  got  the  moral  on  the  bad  man.  Each  one 
furnished  his  own  horse  and  arms,  while  the  State 
gave  him  ammunition,  "  grub,"  one  dollar  a  day, 
and  extra  expenses.  The  enlistment  was  for 
twelve  months.  A  list  of  fugitive  Texas  crimi 
nals  was  placed  in  his  hands,  with  which  he  was 
expected  to  familiarize  himself.  Then,  in  small 
parties,  they  packed  the  bedding  on  their  mule, 
they  hung  the  handcuffs  and  leather  thongs  about 
its  neck,  saddled  their  riding-ponies,  and  threaded 
their  way  into  the  chaparral. 

On  an  evening  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
two  more  distinguished  Ranger  officers  —  more 
modern  types  —  Captains  Lea  Hall  and  Joseph 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

Shely ;  both  of  them  big,  forceful  men,  and  loath 
to  talk  about  themselves.  It  was  difficult  to  asso 
ciate  the  quiet  gentlemen  who  sat  smoking  in  the 
Deacon's  rooms  with  what  men  say ;  for  the  tales 
of  their  prowess  in  Texas  always  ends,  "  and  that 
don't  count  Mexicans,  either."  The  bandit  never 
laid  down  his  gun  but  with  his  life ;  so  the  "  la  ley 
de  huga"  *  was  in  force  in  the  chaparral,  and  the 
good  people  of  Texas  were  satisfied  with  a  very 
short  account  of  a  Ranger's  fight. 

The  most  distinguished  predecessor  of  these  two 
men  was  a  Captain  McNally,  who  was  so  bent  on 
carrying  his  raids  to  an  issue  that  he  paid  no  heed 
to  national  boundary-lines.  He  followed  a  band  of 
Mexican  bandits  to  the  town  of  La  Cueva,  below 
Ringgold,  once,  and,  surrounding  it,  demanded 
the  surrender  of  the  cattle  which  they  had  stolen. 
He  had  but  ten  men,  and  yet  this  redoubtable 
warrior  surrounded  a  town  full  of  bandits  and 
Mexican  soldiers.  The  Mexican  soldiers  attacked 
the  Rangers,  and  forced  them  back  under  the 
river-banks,  but  during  the  fight  the  jefe  politico 
was  killed.  The  Rangers  were  in  a  fair  way  to 
be  overcome  by  the  Mexicans,  when  Lieutenant 
Clendenin  turned  a  Catling  loose  from  the  Amer 
ican  side  and  covered  their  position.  A  parley 

*  Mexican  law  of  shooting  escaped  or  resisting  prisoners. 

16 


HOW   THE   LAW   GOT   INTO   THE  CHAPARRAL 

ensued,  but  McNally  refused  to  go  back  without 
the  cattle,  which  the  Mexicans  had  finally  to  sur 
render. 

At  another  time  McNally  received  word 
through  spies  of  an  intended  raid  of  Mexican 
cattle-thieves  under  the  leadership  of  Cammelo 
Lerma.  At  Resaca  de  la  Palma,  McNally  struck 
the  depredators  with  but  sixteen  men.  They  had 
seventeen  men  and  five  hundred  head  of  stolen 
cattle.  In  a  running  fight  for  miles  McNally 's 
men  killed  sixteen  bandits,  while  only  one  escaped. 
A  young  Ranger  by  the  name  of  Smith  was  shot 
dead  by  Cammelo  Lerma  as  he  dismounted  to  look 
at  the  dying  bandit.  The  dead  bodies  were  piled 
in  ox-carts  and  dumped  in  the  public  square  at 
Brownsville.  McNally  also  captured  King  Fisher's 
band  in  an  old  log  house  in  Dimmit  County,  but 
they  were  not  convicted. 

Showing  the  nature  of  Ranger  work,  an  incident 
which  occurred  to  my  acquaintance,  Captain  Lea 
Hall,  will  illustrate.  In  De  Witt  County  there  was 
a  feud.  One  dark  night  sixteen  masked  men  took 
a  sick  man,  one  Dr.  Brazel,  and  two  of  his  boys, 
from  their  beds,  and,  despite  the  imploring  mother 
and  daughter,  hanged  the  doctor  and  one  son  to  a 
tree.  The  other  boy  escaped  in  the  green  corn. 
Nothing  was  done  to  punish  the  crime,  as  the 
lynchers  were  men  of  property  and  influence  in 
B  17 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

the  country.  No  man  dared  speak  above  his 
breath  about  the  affair. 

Captain  Hall,  by  secret-service  men,  discovered 
the  perpetrators,  and  also  that  they  were  to  be 
gathered  at  a  wedding  on  a  certain  night.  He 
surrounded  the  house  and  demanded  their  surren 
der,  at  the  same  time  saying  that  he  did  not  want 
to  kill  the  women  and  children.  Word  returned 
that  they  would  kill  him  and  all  his  Rangers. 
Hall  told  them  to  allow  their  women  and  children 
to  depart,  which  was  done ;  then,  springing  on  the 
gallery  of  the  house,  he  shouted, "  Now,  gentlemen, 
you  can  go  to  killing  Rangers;  but  if  you  don't 
surrender,  the  Rangers  will  go  to  killing  you." 
This  was  too  frank  a  willingness  for  midnight 
assassins,  and  they  gave  up. 

Spies  had  informed  him  that  robbers  intended 
sacking  Campbell's  store  in  Wolfe  City.  Hall  and 
his  men  lay  behind  the  counters  to  receive  them 
on  the  designated  night.  They  were  allowed  to 
enter,  when  Hall's  men,  rising,  opened  fire — the 
robbers  replying.  Smoke  filled  the  room,  which 
was  fairly  illuminated  by  the  flashes  of  the  guns — 
but  the  robbers  were  all  killed,  much  to  the  dis 
gust  of  the  lawyers,  no  doubt,  though  I  could  never 
hear  that  honest  people  mourned. 

The  man  Hall  was  himself  a  gentleman  of  the 
romantic  Southern  soldier  type,  and  he  entertained 

18 


HOW  THE  LAW  GOT   INTO  THE  CHAPARRAL 

the  highest  ideals,  with  which  it  would  be  extremely 
unsafe  to  trifle,  if  I  may  judge.  Captain  Shely,  our 
other  visitor,  was  a  herculean,  black-eyed  man,  fairly 
fizzing  with  nervous  energy.  He  is  also  exceed 
ingly  shrewd,  as  befits  the  greater  concreteness  of 
the  modern  Texas  law,  albeit  he  too  has  trailed 
bandits  in  the  chaparral,  and  rushed  in  on  their 
camp-fires  at  night,  as  two  big  bullet-holes  in  his 
skin  will  attest.  He  it  was  who  arrested  Polk,  the 
defaulting  treasurer  of  Tennessee.  He  rode  a  Span 
ish  pony  sixty-two  miles  in  six  hours,  and  arrested 
Polk,  his  guide,  and  two  private  detectives,  whom 
Polk  had  bribed  to  set  him  over  the  Rio  Grande. 
When  the  land  of  Texas  was  bought  up  and 
fenced  with  wire,  the  old  settlers  who  had  used  the 
land  did  not  readily  recognize  the  new  regime. 
They  raised  the  rallying-cry  of  "free  grass  and 
free  water" — said  they  had  fought  the  Indians  off, 
and  the  land  belonged  to  them.  Taking  nippers, 
they  rode  by  night  and  cut  down  miles  of  fencing. 
Shely  took  the  keys  of  a  county  jail  from  the 
frightened  sheriff,  made  arrests  by  the  score,  and 
lodged  them  in  the  big  new  jail.  The  country-side 
rose  in  arms,  surrounded  the  building,  and  threat 
ened  to  tear  it  down.  The  big  Ranger  was  not 
deterred  by  this  outburst,  but  quietly  went  out  into 
the  mob,  and  with  mock  politeness  delivered  him 
self  as  follows : 

19 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

"  Do  not  tear  down  the  jail,  gentlemen  —you 
have  been  taxed  for  years  to  build  this  fine  struct 
ure — it  is  yours — do  not  tear  it  down.  I  will  open 
the  doors  wide — you  can  all  come  in — do  not  tear 
down  the  jail;  but  there  are  twelve  Rangers  in 
there,  with  orders  to  kill  as  long  as  they  ca;.i  see. 
Come  right  in,  gentlemen — but  come  fixed." 

The  mob  was  overcome  by  his  civility. 

Texas  is  to -day  the  only  State  in  the  Union 
where  pistol  -  carrying  is  attended  with  great 
chances  of  arrest  and  fine.  The  law  is  supreme 
even  in  the  \one\y  jacails  out  in  the  rolling  waste 
of  chaparral,  and  it  was  made  so  by  the  tireless 
riding,  the  deadly  shooting,  and  the  indomitable 
courage  of  the  Texas  Rangers. 


THE  BLUE  QUAIL  OF  THE 
CACTUS 


THE  Quartermaster  and  I  both  had  trouble 
which  the  doctors  could  not  cure — it  was  January, 
and  it  would  not  do  for  us  to  sit  in  a  "  blind  " ;  be 
sides,  I  do  not  fancy  that.  There  are  ever  so 
many  men  who  are  comfortable  all  over  when  they 
are  sitting  in  a  blind  waiting  on  the  vagrant  flying 
of  the  ducks ;  but  it  is  solemn,  gloomy  business, 
and,  I  must  say,  sufficient  reason  why  they  take  a 
drink  every  fifteen  minutes  to  keep  up  their  en 
thusiasm.  We  both  knew  that  the  finest  winter 
resort  for  shot-gun  folks  was  in  the  Southwest — 
down  on  the  Rio  Grande  in  Texas — so  we  jour 
neyed  to  Eagle  Pass.  As  we  got  down  from  the 
train  we  saw  Captain  Febiger  in  his  long  military 
cloak  by  a  lantern-light. 

"  Got  any  quail  staked  out  for  us,  Feb?"  asked 
the  Quartermaster. 

"  Oodles,"  said  Febiger ;  "  get  into  my  trap,"  and 

21 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

we  were  rattled  through  the  unlighted  street  out 
to  the  camp,  and  brought  up  by  the  Captain's 
quarters. 

In  the  morning  we  unpacked  our  trunks,  and 
had  everything  on  the  floor  where  we  could  see  it, 
after  the  fashion  with  men.  Captain  Febiger's 
baby  boy  came  in  to  help  us  rummage  in  the 
heaps  of  canvas  clothes,  ammunition,  and  what 
not  besides,  finally  selecting  for  his  amusement  a 
loaded  Colt's  revolver  and  a  freshly  honed  razor. 
We  were  terrorized  by  the  possibilities  of  the  com 
bination.  Our  trying  to  take  them  away  from  the 
youngster  only  made  him  yell  like  a  cavern  of  de 
mons.  We  howled  for  his  mother  to  come  to  our 
aid,  which  she  finally  did,  and  she  separated  the 
kid  from  his  toys. 

I  put  on  my  bloomers,  when  the  Captain  came 
in  and  viewed  me,  saying :  "  Texas  bikes ;  but  it 
doesn't  bloom  yet.  I  don't  know  just  what  Texas 
will  do  if  you  parade  in  those  togs — but  you  can 
try." 

As  we  sauntered  down  the  dusty  main  street, 
Texas  lounged  in  the  doorways  or  stood  up  in  its 
buggy  and  stared  at  me.  Texas  grinned  cheer 
fully,  too,  but  I  did  not  care,  so  long  as  Texas 
kept  its  hand  out  of  its  hip  pocket.  I  was  content 
to  help  educate  Texas  as  to  personal  comfort,  at 
no  matter  what  cost  to  myself.  We  passed  into 

22 


THE   BLUE   QUAIL   OF   THE   CACTUS 

Mexico  over  the  Long  Bridge  to  call  on  Sefior 
Mufios,  who  is  the  local  czar,  in  hopes  of  getting 
permits  to  be  let  alone  by  his  chaparral-rangers 
while  we  shot  quail  on  their  soil.  In  Mexico  when 
the  people  observe  an  Americano  they  simply 
shrug  their  shoulders ;  so  our  bloomers  attracted 
no  more  contempt  than  would  an  X  -  ray  or  a 
trolley-car.  Sefior  Mufios  gave  the  permits,  after 
much  stately  compliment  and  many  subtle  ways, 
which  made  us  feel  under  a  cloud  of  obligation. 

The  next  morning  an  ambulance  and  escort- 
wagon  drove  up  to  the  Captain's  quarters,  and  we 
loaded  ourselves  in — shot-guns,  ammunition,  blan 
kets,  and  the  precious  paper  of  Sefior  Mufios  ;  for, 
only  the  week  before,  the  custom-house  rangers 
had  carefully  escorted  an  American  hunting-party 
a  long  distance  back  to  the  line  for  lack  of  the 
little  paper  and  red  seals.  We  rattled  over  the 
bridge,  past  the  Mexican  barrack,  while  its  dark- 
skinned  soldiery  —  who  do  not  shoot  quails  — 
lounged  in  the  sunshine  against  the  whitewashed 
wall. 

At  the  first  outpost  of  the  customs  a  little  man, 
whose  considerable  equatorial  proportions  were 
girted  with  a  gun,  examined  our  paper,  and  waved 
us  on  our  way.  Under  the  railroad  bridge  of  the 
International  an  engineer  blew  his  whistle,  and  our 
mules  climbed  on  top  of  each  other  in  their  terror. 

23 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

We  wound  along  the  little  river,  through  irrigating 
ditches,  past  dozens  of  those  deliciously  quaint 
adobe  houses,  past  the  inevitable  church,  past  a 
dead  pony,  ran  over  a  chicken,  made  the  little 
seven-year-old  girls  take  their  five-year-old  brothers 
up  in  their  arms  for  protection,  and  finally  we 
climbed  a  long  hill.  At  the  top  stretched  an  end 
less  plain.  The  road  forked ;  presently  it  branched ; 
anon  it  grew  into  twigs  of  white  dust  on  the  gray 
levels  of  the  background.  The  local  physician  of 
Eagle  Pass  was  of  our  party,  and  he  was  said  to 
know  where  a  certain  tank  was  to  be  found,  some 
thirty  miles  out  in  the  desert,  but  no  man  yet  cre 
ated  could  know  which  twig  of  the  road  to  take. 
He  decided  on  one — changed  his  mind — got  out 
of  the  ambulance,  scratched  his  head,  pondered, 
and  finally  resolution  settled  on  his  face.  He  mo 
tioned  the  driver  to  a  certain  twig,  got  in,  and  shut 
his  mouth  firmly,  thus  closing  debate.  We  smoked 
silently,  waiting  for  the  doctor's  mind  to  fog.  He 
turned  uneasily  in  his  seat,  like  the  agitated  needle 
of  a  compass,  and  even  in  time  hazarded  the  re 
mark  that  something  did  not  look  natural ;  but 
there  was  nothing  to  look  at  but  flat  land  and  flat 
sky,  unless  a  hawk  sailing  here  and  there.  At 
noon  we  lunched  at  the  tail  of  the  ambulance,  and 
gently  "  jollied "  the  doctor's  topography.  We 
pushed  on.  Later  in  the  afternoon  the  thirsty 

24 


r     I 


THE  BLUE  QUAIL  OF  THE  CACTUS 

mules  went  slowly.  The  doctor  had  by  this  time 
admitted  his  doubts — some  long  blue  hills  on  the 
sky-line  ought  to  be  farther  to  the  west,  according 
to  his  remembrance.  As  no  one  else  had  any 
ideas  on  the  subject,  the  doctor's  position  was  not 
enviable.  We  changed  our  course,  and  travelled 
many  weary  miles  through  the  chaparral,  which 
was  high  enough  to  stop  our  vision,  and  stiff 
enough  to  bar  our  way,  keeping  us  to  narrow 
roads.  At  last  the  bisecting  cattle  trails  began  to 
converge,  and  we  knew  that  they  led  to  water — 
which  they  did  ;  for  shortly  we  saw  a  little  broken 
adobe,  a  tumbled  brush  corral,  the  plastered  gate 
of  an  acequia,  and  the  blue  water  of  the  tank. 

To  give  everything  its  due  proportion  at  this 
point,  we  gathered  to  congratulate  the  doctor  as 
we  passed  the  flask.  The  camp  was  pitched 
within  the  corral,  and  while  the  cook  got  supper 
we  stood  in  the  after-glow  on  the  bank  of  the  tank 
and  saw  the  ducks  come  home,  heard  the  mud- 
hens  squddle,  while  high  in  the  air  flew  the  long 
line  of  sand-hill  cranes  with  a  hoarse  clangor.  It 
was  quite  dark  when  we  sat  on  the  "  grub  "  chests 
and  ate  by  the  firelight,  while  out  in  the  desert  the 
coyotes  shrilled  to  the  monotonous  accompani 
ment  of  the  mules  crunching  their  feed  and  stamp 
ing  wearily.  To-morrow  it  was  proposed  to  hunt 
ducks  in  their  morning  flight,  which  means  getting 

25 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

up  before  daylight,  so  bed  found  us  early.  It 
seemed  but  a  minute  after  I  had  sought  my  blan 
kets  when  I  was  being  abused  by  the  Captain,  be 
ing  pushed  with  his  foot — fairly  rolled  over  by 
him — he  even  standing  on  my  body  as  he  shouted, 
"  Get  up,  if  you  are  going  hunting.  It  will  be  light 
directly — get  up  !"  And  this,  constantly  recurring, 
is  one  reason  why  I  do  not  care  for  duck-shooting. 

But,  in  order  to  hunt,  I  had  to  get  up,  and  file 
off  in  the  line  of  ghosts,  stumbling,  catching  on 
the  chaparral,  and  splashing  in  the  mud.  I  led  a 
setter-dog,  and  was  presently  directed  to  sit  down 
in  some  damp  grass,  because  it  was  a  good  place — 
certainly  not  to  sit  down  in,  but  for  other  reasons. 
I  sat  there  in  the  dark,  petting  the  good  dog,  and 
watching  the  sky  grow  pale  in  the  east.  This  is  not 
to  mention  the  desire  for  breakfast,  or  the  damp, 
or  the  sleepiness,  but  this  is  really  the  larger  part 
of  duck-hunting.  Of  course  if  I  later  had  a  dozen 
good  shots  it  might  compensate — but  I  did  not 
have  a  dozen  shots. 

The  day  came  slowly  out  of  the  east,  the  mud- 
hens  out  in  the  marsh  splashed  about  in  the 
rushes,  a  sailing  hawk  was  visible  against  the 
gray  sky  overhead,  and  I  felt  rather  insignificant, 
not  to  say  contemptible,  as  I  sat  there  in  the  lone 
liness  of  this  big  nature  which  worked  around  me. 
The  dog  dignified  the  situation — he  was  a  part  of 

26 


THE   BLUE   QUAIL   OF  THE   CACTUS 

nature's  belongings — while  I  somehow  did  not 
seem  to  grace  the  solitude.  The  grays  slowly 
grew  into  browns  on  the  sedge  -  grass,  and  the 
water  to  silver.  A  bright  flash  of  fire  shot  out  of 
the  dusk  far  up  in  the  gloom,  and  the  dull  report 
of  a  shot-gun  came  over  the  tank.  Black  objects 
fled  across  the  sky — the  ducks  were  flying.  I 
missed  one  or  two,  and  grew  weary — none  came 
near  enough  to  my  lair.  Presently  it  was  light, 
and  I  got  a  fair  shot.  My  bird  tumbled  into  the 
rushes  out  in  front  of  me,  and  the  setter  bounded 
in  to  retrieve.  He  searched  vehemently,  but  the 
wounded  duck  dived  in  front  of  him.  He  came 
ashore  shortly,  and  lying  down,  he  bit  at  himself 
and  pawed  and  rolled.  He  was  a  mass  of  cockle- 
burs.  I  took  him  on  my  lap  and  laboriously 
picked  cockle-burs  out  of  his  hair  for  a  half-hour ; 
then,  shouldering  my  gun,  I  turned  tragically  to 
the  water  and  anathematized  its  ducks — all  ducks, 
my  fellow-duckers,  all  thoughts  and  motives  con 
cerning  ducks — and  then  strode  into  the  chaparral. 
"  Hie  on !  hie  on !"  I  tossed  my  arm,  and  the 
setter  began  to  hunt  beautifully — glad,  no  doubt, 
to  leave  all  thoughts  of  the  cockle-burs  and  evasive 
ducks  behind.  I  worked  up  the  shore  of  the  tank, 
keeping  back  in  the  brush,  and  got  some  fun. 
After  chasing  about  for  some  time  I  came  out 
near  the  water.  My  dog  pointed.  I  glided  for- 

27 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

ward,  and  came  near  shooting  the  Quartermaster, 
who  sat  in  a  bunch  of  sedge-grass,  with  a  dead 
duck  by  his  side.  He  was  smoking,  and  was  dis 
gusted  with  ducks.  He  joined  me,  and  shortly,  as 
we  crossed  the  road,  the  long  Texas  doctor,  who 
owned  the  dog,  came  striding  down  the  way.  He 
was  ready  for  quail  now,  and  we  started. 

The  quail -hunting  is  active  work.  The  dog 
points,  but  one  nearly  always  finds  the  birds  run 
ning  from  one  prickly-pear  bush  to  another.  They 
do  not  stand,  rarely  flush,  and  when  they  do  get  up 
it  is  only  to  swoop  ahead  to  the  nearest  cover, 
where  they  settle  quickly.  One  must  be  sharp  in 
his  shooting  —  he  cannot  select  his  distance,  for 
the  cactus  lies  thick  about,  and  the  little  running 
bird  is  only  on  view  for  the  shortest  of  moments. 
You  must  overrun  a  dog  after  his  first  point,  since 
he  works  too  close  behind  them.  The  covey  will 
keep  together  if  not  pursued  with  too  much  haste, 
and  one  gets  shot  after  shot ;  still,  at  last  you  must 
run  lively,  as  the  frightened  covey  scurry  along  at  a 
remarkable  pace.  Heavy  shot  are  necessary,  since 
the  blue  quail  carry  lead  like  Marshal  Massena, 
and  are  much  harder  to  kill  than  the  bob-white. 
Three  men  working  together  can  get  shooting 
enough  out  of  a  bunch — the  chase  often  continu 
ing  for  a  mile,  when  the  covey  gradually  separate, 
the  sportsmen  following  individual  birds. 

28 


THE   BLUE  QUAIL  OF  THE  CACTUS 

Where  the  prickly-pear  cactus  is  thickest,  there 
are  the  blue  quail,  since  that  is  their  feed  and  water 
supply.  This  same  cactus  makes  a  difficulty  of 
pursuit,  for  it  bristles  with  spines,  which  come  off 
on  your  clothing,  and  when  they  enter  the  skin 
make  most  uncomfortable  and  persistent  sores. 
The  Quartermaster  had  an  Indian  tobacco-bag 
dangling  at  his  belt,  and  as  it  flopped  in  his  prog 
ress  it  gathered  prickers,  which  it  shortly  trans 
ferred  to  his  luckless  legs,  until  he  at  last  detected 
the  reason  why  he  bristled  so  fiercely.  And  the 
poor  dog — at  every  covey  we  had  to  stop  and  pick 
needles  out  of  him.  The  haunts  of  the  blue  quail 
are  really  no  place  for  a  dog,  as  he  soon  becomes 
useless.  One  does  not  need  him,  either,  since  the 
blue  quail  will  not  flush  until  actually  kicked  into 
the  air. 

Jack  and  cotton-tail  rabbits  fled  by  hundreds 
before  us.  They  are  everywhere,  and  afford  good 
shooting  between  coveys,  it  being  quick  work  to 
get  a  cotton-tail  as  he  flashes  between  the  net-work 
of  protecting  cactus.  Coyotes  lope  away  in  our 
front,  but  they  are  too  wild  for  a  shot-gun.  It 
must  ever  be  in  a  man's  mind  to  keep  his  direc 
tion,  because  it  is  such  a  vastly  simple  thing  to  get 
lost  in  the  chaparral,  where  you  cannot  see  a  hun 
dred  yards.  Mexico  has  such  a  considerable  terri 
tory  that  a  man  on  foot  may  find  it  inconvenient 

29 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

to  beat  up  a  town  in  the  desolation  of  thorn- 
bush. 

There  is  an  action  about  blue-quail  shooting 
which  is  next  to  buffalo  shooting — it's  run,  shoot, 
pick  up  your  bird,  scramble  on  in  your  endeavor 
to  keep  the  skirmish-line  of  your  two  comrades; 
and  at  last,  when  you  have  concluded  to  stop,  you 
can  mop  your  forehead — the  Mexican  sun  shines 
hot  even  in  midwinter. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  we  get  among  bob-white 
in  a  grassy  tract,  and  while  they  are  clean  work — 
good  dog-play,  and  altogether  more  satisfactory 
shooting  than  any  other  I  know  of — I  am  yet 
much  inclined  to  the  excitement  of  chasing  after 
game  which  you  can  see  at  intervals.  Let  it  not 
be  supposed  that  it  is  less  difficult  to  hit  a  running 
blue  quail  as  he  shoots  through  the  brush  than  a 
flying  bob-white,  for  the  experience  of  our  party 
has  settled  that,  and  one  gets  ten  shots  at  the  blue 
to  one  at  the  bob-white,  because  of  their  number. 
As  to  eating,  we  could  not  tell  the  difference ;  but 
I  will  not  insist  that  this  is  final.  A  man  who 
comes  in  from  an  all  day's  run  in  the  brush  does 
not  care  whether  the  cook  gives  him  boiled  beans, 
watermelon,  or  crackers  and  jam  ;  so  how  is  he  to 
know  what  a  bird's  taste  is  when  served  to  a  tame 
appetite  ? 

At  intervals  we  ran  into  the  wild  cattle  which 

30 


THE  BLUE  QUAIL  OF  THE  CACTUS 

threaded  their  way  to  water,  and  it  makes  one 
nervous.  It  is  of  no  use  to  say  "  Soo-bossy,"  or  to 
give  him  a  charge  of  No.  6 ;  neither  is  it  well  to 
run.  If  the  matadores  had  any  of  the  sensations 
which  I  have  experienced,  the  gate  receipts  at  the 
bull-rings  would  have  to  go  up.  When  a  big  long- 
horn  fastens  a  quail-shooter  with  his  great  open 
brown  eye  in  a  chaparral  thicket,  you  are  not 
inclined  to  "call  his  hand."  If  he  will  call  it  a 
misdeal,  you  are  with  him. 

We  were  banging  away,  the  Quartermaster  and 
I,  when  a  human  voice  began  yelling  like  mad 
from  the  brush  ahead.  We  advanced,  to  find  a 
Mexican — rather  well  gotten  up — who  proceeded 
to  wave  his  arms  like  a  parson  who  had  reached 
"sixthly  "  in  his  sermon,  and  who  proceeded  thereat 
to  overwhelm  us  with  his  eloquence.  The  Quarter 
master  and  I  "  buenos  dias-ed"  and  " sz\  senor-ed" 
him  in  our  helpless  Spanish,  and  asked  each  other, 
nervously,  "What  de'll."  After  a  long  time  he 
seemed  to  be  getting  through  with  his  subject,  his 
sentences  became  separated,  he  finally  emitted 
monosyllables  only  along  with  his  scowls,  and  we 
tramped  off  into  the  brush.  It  was  a  pity  he  spent 
so  much  energy,  since  it  could  only  arouse  our 
curiosity  without  satisfying  it. 

In  camp  that  night  we  told  the  Captain  of  our 
excited  Mexican  friend  out  in  the  brush,  and  our 

3* 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

cook  had  seen  sinister  men  on  ponies  passing  near 
our  camp.  The  Captain  became  solicitous,  and 
stationed  a  night-guard  over  his  precious  govern 
ment  mules.  It  would  never  do  to  have  a  bandit 
get  away  with  a  U.  S.  brand.  It  never  does  matter 
about  private  property,  but  anything  with  U.  S. 
on  it  has  got  to  be  looked  after,  like  a  croupy 
child. 

We  had  some  good  days'  sport,  and  no  more 
formidable  enterprise  against  the  night-guard  was 
attempted  than  the  noisy  approach  of  a  white 
jackass.  The  tents  were  struck  and  loaded  when 
it  began  to  rain.  We  stood  in  the  shelter  of  the 
escort-wagon,  and  the  storm  rose  to  a  hurricane. 
Our  corral  became  a  tank ;  but  shortly  the  black 
clouds  passed  north,  and  we  pulled  out.  The  twig 
ran  into  a  branch,  and  the  branch  struck  the  trunk 
near  the  bluffs  over  the  Rio  Grande,  and  in  town 
there  stood  the  Mexican  soldiers  leaning  against 
the  wall  as  we  had  left  them.  We  wondered  if 
they  had  moved  meanwhile. 


A  SERGEANT  OF  THE  OR 
PHAN  TROOP 


WHILE  it  is  undisputed  that  Captain  Dodd's 
troop  of  the  Third  Cavalry  is  not  an  orphan,  and 
is,  moreover,  quite  as  far  from  it  as  any  troop  of 
cavalry  in  the  world,  all  this  occurred  many  years 
ago,  when  it  was,  at  any  rate,  so  called.  There 
was  nothing  so  very  unfortunate  about  it,  from 
what  I  can  gather,  since  it  seems  to  have  fought 
well  on  its  own  hook,  quite  up  to  all  expectations, 
if  not  beyond.  No  officer  at  that  time  seemed  to 
care  to  connect  his  name  with  such  a  rioting,  nose- 
breaking  band  of  desperado  cavalrymen,  unless  it 
was  temporarily,  and  that  was  always  in  the  field, 
and  never  in  garrison.  However,  in  this  case  it 
did  not  have  even  an  officer  in  the  field.  But  let 
me  go  on  to  my  sergeant. 

This  one  was  a  Southern  gentleman,  or  rather 
a  boy,  when  he  refugeed  out  of  Fredericksburg 
with  his  family,  before  the  Federal  advance,  in  a 
c  33 


CROOKED   TRAILS 


wagon  belonging  to  a  Mississippi  rifle  regiment; 
but  nevertheless  some  years  later  he  got  to  be  a 
gentleman,  and  passed  through  the  Virginia  Mili 
tary  Institute  with  honor.  The  desire  to  be  a 
soldier  consumed  him,  but  the  vicissitudes  of  the 
times  compelled  him,  if  he  wanted  to  be  a  soldier, 
to  be  a  private  one,  which  he  became  by  duly 
enlisting  in  the  Third  Cavalry.  He  struck  the 
Orphan  Troop. 

Physically,  Nature  had  slobbered  all  over  Carter 
Johnson ;  she  had  lavished  on  him  her  very  last 
charm.  His  skin  was  pink,  albeit  the  years  of 
Arizona  sun  had  heightened  it  to  a  dangerous 
red ;  his  mustache  was  yellow  and  ideally  military; 
while  his  pure  Virginia  accent,  fired  in  terse  and 
jerky  form  at  friend  and  enemy  alike,  relieved  his 
natural  force  of  character  by  a  shade  of  humor. 
He  was  thumped  and  bucked  and  pounded  into 
what  was  in  the  seventies  considered  a  proper 
frontier  soldier,  for  in  those  days  the  nursery  idea 
had  not  been  lugged  into  the  army.  If  a  sergeant 
bade  a  soldier  "  go  "  or  "  do,"  he  instantly  "  went " 
or  "did" — otherwise  the  sergeant  belted  him  over 
the  head  with  his  six-shooter,  and  had  him  taken 
off  in  a  cart.  On  pay-days,  too,  when  men  who 
did  not  care  to  get  drunk  went  to  bed  in  barracks, 
they  slept  under  their  bunks  and  not  in  them, 
which  was  conducive  to  longevity  and  a  good 

34 


A   SERGEANT   OF   THE   ORPHAN   TROOP 

night's  rest.  When  buffalo  were  scarce  they  ate 
the  army  rations  in  those  wild  days ;  they  had  a 
fight  often  enough  to  earn  thirteen  dollars,  and  at 
times  a  good  deal  more.  This  was  the  way  with 
all  men  at  that  time,  but  it  was  rough  on  recruits. 

So  my  friend  Carter  Johnson  wore  through 
some  years,  rose  to  be  a  corporal,  finally  a  sergeant, 
and  did  many  daring  deeds.  An  atavism  from 
"  the  old  border  riders  "  of  Scotland  shone  through 
the  boy,  and  he  took  on  quickly.  He  could  act 
the  others  off  the  stage  and  sing  them  out  of  the 
theatre  in  his  chosen  profession. 

There  was  fighting  all  day  long  around  Fort 
Robinson,  Nebraska — a  bushwhacking  with  Dull- 
Knife's  band  of  the  Northern  Cheyennes,  the 
Spartans  of  the  plains.  It  was  January ;  the  snow 
lay  deep  on  the  ground,  and  the  cold  was  knife- 
like  as  it  thrust  at  the  fingers  and  toes  of  the 
Orphan  Troop.  Sergeant  Johnson  with  a  squad 
of  twenty  men,  after  having  been  in  the  saddle  all 
night,  was  in  at  the  post  drawing  rations  for  the 
troop.  As  they  were  packing  them  up  for  trans 
port,  a  detachment  of  F  Troop  came  galloping  by, 
led  by  the  sergeant's  friend,  Corporal  Thornton. 
They  pulled  up. 

"  Come  on,  Carter — go  with  us.  I  have  just 
heard  that  some  troops  have  got  a  bunch  of  Injuns 
corralled  out  in  the  hills.  They  can't  get  'em 

35 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

down.  Let's  go  help  'em.  It's  a  chance  for  the 
fight  of  your  life.  Come  on." 

Carter  hesitated  for  a  moment.  He  had  drawn 
the  rations  for  his  troop,  which  was  in  sore  need 
of  them.  It  might  mean  a  court-martial  and  the 
loss  of  his  chevrons — but  a  fight !  Carter  struck 
his  spurred  heels,  saying,  "  Come  on,  boys ;  get 
your  horses;  we  will  go." 

The  line  of  cavalry  was  half  lost  in  the  flying 
snow  as  it  cantered  away  over  the  white  flats. 
The  dry  powder  crunched  under  the  thudding 
hoofs,  the  carbines  banged  about,  the  overcoat 
capes  blew  and  twisted  in  the  rushing  air,  the 
horses  grunted  and  threw  up  their  heads  as  the 
spurs  went  into  their  bellies,  while  the  men's  faces 
were  serious  with  the  interest  in  store.  Mile  after 
mile  rushed  the  little  column,  until  it  came  to 
some  bluffs,  where  it  drew  reign  and  stood  gazing 
across  the  valley  to  the  other  hills. 

Down  in  the  bottoms  they  espied  an  officer  and 
two  men  sitting  quietly  on  their  horses,  and  on 
riding  up  found  a  lieutenant  gazing  at  the  oppo 
site  bluffs  through  a  glass.  Far  away  behind  the 
bluffs  a  sharp  ear  could  detect  the  reports  of 
guns. 

"We  have  been  fighting  the  Indians  all  day 
here,"  said  the  officer,  putting  down  his  glass  and 
turning  to  the  two  "  non-coms."  "  The  command 

36 


A   SERGEANT  OF  THE  ORPHAN   TROOP 

has  gone  around  the  bluffs.  I  have  just  seen  Ind 
ians  up  there  on  the  rim-rocks.  I  have  sent  for 
troops,  in  the  hope  that  we  might  get  up  there. 
Sergeant,  deploy  as  skirmishers,  and  we  will  try." 

At  a  gallop  the  men  fanned  out,  then  forward 
at  a  sharp  trot  across  the  flats,  over  the  little  hills, 
and  into  the  scrub  pine.  The  valley  gradually 
narrowed  until  it  forced  the  skirmishers  into  a 
solid  body,  when  the  lieutenant  took  the  lead,  with 
the  command  tailing  out  in  single  file.  The  signs 
of  the  Indians  grew  thicker  and  thicker — a  skir 
misher's  nest  here  behind  a  scrub-pine  bush,  and 
there  by  the  side  of  a  rock.  Kettles  and  robes 
lay  about  in  the  snow,  with  three  "  bucks "  and 
some  women  and  children  sprawling  about,  frozen 
as  they  had  died ;  but  all  was  silent  except  the 
crunch  of  the  snow  and  the  low  whispers  of  the 
men  as  they  pointed  to  the  telltales  of  the  morn 
ing's  battle. 

As  the  column  approached  the  precipitous  rim- 
rock  the  officer  halted,  had  the  horses  assembled 
in  a  side  canon,  putting  Corporal  Thornton  in 
charge.  He  ordered  Sergeant  Johnson  to  again 
advance  his  skirmish-line,  in  which  formation  the 
men  moved  forward,  taking  cover  behind  the  pine 
scrub  and  rocks,  until  they  came  to  an  open  space 
of  about  sixty  paces,  while  above  it  towered  the 
cliff  for  twenty  feet  in  the  sheer.  There  the 

37 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

Indians  had  been  last  seen.  The  soldiers  lay 
tight  in  the  snow,  and  no  man's  valor  impelled 
him  on.  To  the  casual  glance  the  rim-rock  was 
impassable.  The  men  were  discouraged  and  the 
officer  nonplussed.  A  hundred  rifles  might  be 
covering  the  rock  fort  for  all  they  knew.  On 
closer  examination  a  cutting  was  found  in  the  face 
of  the  rock  which  was  a  rude  attempt  at  steps, 
doubtless  made  long  ago  by  the  Indians.  Caught 
on  a  bush  above,  hanging  down  the  steps,  was  a 
lariat,  which,  at  the  bottom,  was  twisted  around 
the  shoulders  of  a  dead  warrior.  They  had  evi 
dently  tried  to  take  him  up  while  wounded,  but 
he  had  died  and  had  been  abandoned. 

After  cogitating,  the  officer  concluded  not  to 
order  his  men  forward,  but  he  himself  stepped 
boldly  out  into  the  open  and  climbed  up.  Ser 
geant  Johnson  immediately  followed,  while  an  old 
Swedish  soldier  by  the  name  of  Otto  Bordeson 
fell  in  behind  them.  They  walked  briskly  up  the 
hill,  and  placing  their  backs  against  the  wall  of 
rock,  stood  gazing  at  the  Indian. 

With  a  grin  the  officer  directed  the  men  to 
advance.  The  sergeant,  seeing  that  he  realized 
their  serious  predicament,  said: 

"  I  think,  lieutenant,  you  had  better  leave  them 
where  they  are;  we  are  holding  this  rock  up 
pretty  hard." 

38 


1  JJ 


A   SERGEANT   OF   THE   ORPHAN  TROOP 

They  stood  there  and  looked  at  each  other. 
"We's  in  a  fix,"  said  Otto. 

"  I  want  volunteers  to  climb  this  rock,"  finally 
demanded  the  officer. 

The  sergeant  looked  up  the  steps,  pulled  at  the 
lariat,  and  commented:  "  Only  one  man  can  go  at 
a  time ;  if  there  are  Indians  up  there,  an  old  squaw 
can  kill  this  command  with  a  hatchet ;  and  if  there 
are  no  Indians,  we  can  all  go  up." 

The  impatient  officer  started  up,  but  the  ser 
geant  grabbed  him  by  the  belt.  He  turned,  say 
ing,  "  If  I  haven't  got  men  to  go,  I  will  climb 
myself." 

"  Stop,  lieutenant.  It  wouldn't  look  right  for 
the  officer  to  go.  I  have  noticed  a  pine-tree,  the 
branches  of  which  spread  over  the  top  of  the  rock," 
and  the  sergeant  pointed  to  it.  "  If  you  will  make 
the  men  cover  the  top  of  the  rim-rock  with  their 
rifles,  Bordeson  and  I  will  go  up;"  and  turning  to 
the  Swede,  "  Will  you  go,  Otto  ?" 

"  I  will  go  anywhere  the  sergeant  does,"  came 
his  gallant  reply. 

"Take  your  choice,  then,  of  the  steps  or  the 
pine  -  tree,"  continued  the  Virginian  ;  and  after  a 
rather  short  but  sharp  calculation  the  Swede  de 
clared  for  the  tree,  although  both  were  death  if 
the  Indians  were  on  the  rim-rock.  He  immedi 
ately  began  sidling  along  the  rock  to  the  tree, 

39 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

and  slowly  commenced  the  ascent.  The  sergeant 
took  a  few  steps  up  the  cutting,  holding  on  by  the 
rope.  The  officer  stood  out  and  smiled  quizzical 
ly.  Jeers  came  from  behind  the  soldiers'  bushes 
— "  Go  it,  Otto !  Go  it,  Johnson !  Your  feet  are 
loaded !  If  a  snow-bird  flies,  you  will  drop  dead ! 
Do  you  need  any  help  ?  You'd  make  a  hell  of  a 
sailor !"  and  other  gibes. 

The  gray  clouds  stretched  away  monotonously 
over  the  waste  of  snow,  and  it  was  cold.  The 
two  men  climbed  slowly,  anon  stopping  to  look  at 
each  other  and  smile.  They  were  monkeying  with 
death. 

At  last  the  sergeant  drew  himself  up,  slowly 
raised  his  head,  and  saw  snow  and  broken  rock. 
Otto  lifted  himself  likewise,  and  he  too  saw  noth 
ing.  Rifle-shots  came  clearly  to  their  ears  from 
far  in  front — many  at  one  time,  and  scattering  at 
others.  Now  the  soldiers  came  briskly  forward, 
dragging  up  the  cliff  in  single  file.  The  dull 
noises  of  the  fight  came  through  the  wilderness. 
The  skirmish-line  drew  quickly  forward  and  passed 
into  the  pine  woods,  but  the  Indian  trails  scattered. 
Dividing  into  sets  of  four,  they  followed  on  the 
tracks  of  small  parties,  wandering  on  until  night 
threatened.  At  length  the  main  trail  of  the  fugi 
tive  band  ran  across  their  front,  bringing  the  com 
mand  together.  It  was  too  late  for  the  officer  to 

40 


THE    TWO    MEN    CLIMBED    SLOWLY  " 


A   SERGEANT  OF  THE  ORPHAN  TROOP 

get  his  horses  before  dark,  nor  could  he  follow 
with  his  exhausted  men,  so  he  turned  to  the  ser 
geant  and  asked  him  to  pick  some  men  and  follow 
on  the  trail.  The  sergeant  picked  Otto  Borde- 
son,  who  still  affirmed  that  he  would  go  anywhere 
that  Johnson  went,  and  they  started.  They  were 
old  hunting  companions,  having  confidence  in 
each  other's  sense  and  shooting.  They  ploughed 
through  the  snow,  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
pines,  then  on  down  a  canon  where  the  light  was 
failing.  The  sergeant  was  sweating  freely ;  he 
raised  his  hand  to  press  his  fur  cap  backward 
from  his  forehead.  He  drew  it  quickly  away  ;  he 
stopped  and  started,  caught  Otto  by  the  sleeve, 
and  drew  a  long  breath.  Still  holding  his  com 
panion,  he  put  his  glove  again  to  his  nose,  sniffed 
at  it  again,  and  with  a  mighty  tug  brought  the 
startled  Swede  to  his  knees,  whispering,  "  I  smell 
Indians ;  I  can  sure  smell  'em,  Otto — can  you  ?" 
Otto  sniffed,  and  whispered  back,  "  Yes,  plain  !" 
"  We  are  ambushed  !  Drop !"  and  the  two  sol 
diers  sunk  in  the  snow.  A  few  feet  in  front  of 
them  lay  a  dark  thing ;  crawling  to  it,  they  found 
a  large  calico  rag,  covered  with  blood. 

"  Let's  do  something,  Carter ;  we's  in  a  fix." 
"  If  we  go  down,  Otto,  we  are  gone ;  if  we  go 
back,  we  are  gone ;  let's  go  forward,"  hissed  the 
sergeant. 

41 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

Slowly  they  crawled  from  tree  to  tree. 

"  Don't  you  see  the  Injuns  ?"  said  the  Swede,  as 
he  pointed  to  the  rocks  in  front,  where  lay  their 
dark  forms.  The  still  air  gave  no  sound.  The 
cathedral  of  nature,  with  its  dark  pine  trunks 
starting  from  gray  snow  to  support  gray  sky,  was 
dead.  Only  human  hearts  raged,  for  the  forms 
which  held  them  lay  like  black  bowlders. 

"  Egah — lelah  washatah,"  yelled  the  sergeant 

Two  rifle-shots  rang  and  reverberated  down  the 
canon ;  two  more  replied  instantly  from  the  sol 
diers.  One  Indian  sunk,  and  his  carbine  went 
clanging  down  the  rocks,  burying  itself  in  the 
snow.  Another  warrior  rose  slightly,  took  aim, 
but  Johnson's  six-shooter  cracked  again,  and  the 
Indian  settled  slowly  down  without  firing.  A 
squaw  moved  slowly  in  the  half-light  to  where  the 
buck  lay.  Bordeson  drew  a  bead  with  his  car 
bine. 

"Don't  shoot  the  woman,  Otto.  Keep  that  hole 
covered ;  the  place  is  alive  with  Indians ;"  and 
both  lay  still. 

A  buck  rose  quickly,  looked  at  the  sergeant, 
and  dropped  back.  The  latter  could  see  that  he 
had  him  located,  for  he  slowly  poked  his  rifle  up 
without  showing  his  head.  Johnson  rolled  swift 
ly  to  one  side,  aiming  with  his  deadly  revolver. 
Up  popped  the  Indian's  head,  crack  went  the  six- 

42 


A  SERGEANT  OF  THE  ORPHAN  TROOP 

shooter;  the  head  turned  slowly,  leaving  the  top 
exposed.  Crack  again  went  the  alert  gun  of  the 
soldier,  the  ball  striking  the  head  just  below  the 
scalp-lock  and  instantly  jerking  the  body  into  a 
kneeling  position. 

Then  all  was  quiet  in  the  gloomy  woods. 

After  a  time  the  sergeant  addressed  his  voice  to 
the  lonely  place  in  Sioux,  telling  the  women  to 
come  out  and  surrender — to  leave  the  bucks,  etc. 

An  old  squaw  rose  sharply  to  her  feet,  slapped 
her  breast,  shouted  "  Lelah  washatah,"  and  gather 
ing  up  a  little  girl  and  a  bundle,  she  strode  for 
ward  to  the  soldiers.  Three  other  women  fol 
lowed,  two  of  them  in  the  same  blanket. 

"  Are  there  any  more  bucks  ?"  roared  the  ser 
geant,  in  Sioux. 

"  No  more  alive,"  said  the  old  squaw,  in  the 
same  tongue. 

"  Keep  your  rifle  on  the  hole  between  the 
rocks ;  watch  these  people ;  I  will  go  up,"  direct 
ed  the  sergeant,  as  he  slowly  mounted  to  the 
ledge,  and  with  levelled  six-shooter  peered  slowly 
over.  He  stepped  in  and  stood  looking  down  on 
the  dead  warriors. 

A  yelling  in  broken  English  smote  the  startled 
sergeant.  "  Tro  up  your  hands,  you  d In 
jun  !  I'll  blow  the  top  off  you !"  came  through 
the  quiet.  The  sergeant  sprang  down  to  see  the 

43 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

Swede  standing  with  carbine  levelled  at  a  young 
buck  confronting  him  with  a  drawn  knife  in  his 
hands,  while  his  blanket  lay  back  on  the  snow. 

"  He's  a  buck — he  ain't  no  squaw;  he  tried  to 
creep  on  me  with  a  knife.  I'm  going  to  kill  him," 
shouted  the  excited  Bordeson. 

"  No,  no,  don't  kill  him.  Otto,  don't  you  kill 
him,"  expostulated  Johnson,  as  the  Swede's  finger 
clutched  nervously  at  the  trigger,  and  turning, 

he  roared,  "  Throw  away  that  knife,  you  d 

Indian !" 

The  detachment  now  came  charging  in  through 
the  snow,  and  gathered  around  excitedly.  A  late 
arrival  came  up,  breathing  heavily,  dropped  his 
gun,  and  springing  up  and  down,  yelled,  "  Be 
jabbers,  I  have  got  among  om  at  last !"  A  gen 
eral  laugh  went  up,  and  the  circle  of  men  broke 
into  a , straggling  line  for  the  return.  The  ser 
geant  took  the  little  girl  up  in  his  arms.  She 
grabbed  him  fiercely  by  the  throat  like  a  wild-cat, 
screaming.  While  nearly  choking,  he  yet  tried  to 
mollify  her,  while  her  mother,  seeing  no  harm  was 
intended,  pacified  her  in  the  soft  gutturals  of  the 
race.  She  relaxed  her  grip,  and  the  brave  Virgin 
ian  packed  her  down  the  mountain,  wrapped  in  his 
soldier  cloak.  The  horses  were  reached  in  time, 
and  the  prisoners  put  on  double  behind  the  sol 
diers,  who  fed  them  crackers  as  they  marched.  At 

44 


"THE  BRAVE  CHEYKNNICS  WKRE  RUNNING  THROUGH  THE  FROSTY  HILLS' 


A  SERGEANT  OF  THE  ORPHAN  TROOP 

two  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  little  command  rode 
into  Fort  Robinson  and  dismounted  at  the  guard 
house.  The  little  girl,  who  was  asleep  and  half 
frozen  in  Johnson's  overcoat,  would  not  go  to  her 
mother :  poor  little  cat,  she  had  found  a  nest. 
The  sergeant  took  her  into  the  guard -house, 
where  it  was  warm.  She  soon  fell  asleep,  and 
slowly  he  undid  her,  delivering  her  to  her  mother. 
On  the  following  morning  he  came  early  to  the 
guard-house,  loaded  with  trifles  for  his  little  Indian 
girl.  He  had  expended  all  his  credit  at  the  post- 
trader's,  but  he  could  carry  sentiment  no  further, 
for  "  To  horse !"  was  sounding,  and  he  joined  the 
Orphan  Troop  to  again  ride  on  the  Dull-Knife 
trail.  The  brave  Cheyennes  were  running  through 
the  frosty  hills,  and  the  cavalry  horses  pressed 
hotly  after.  For  ten  days  the  troops  surrounded 
the  Indians  by  day,  and  stood  guard  in  the  snow 
by  night,  but  coming  day  found  the  ghostly  war 
riors  gone  and  their  rifle-pits  empty.  They  were 
cut  off  and  slaughtered  daily,  but  the  gallant  war 
riors  were  fighting  to  their  last  nerve.  Towards 
the  end  they  were  cooped  in  a  gully  on  War-Bon- 
natt  Creek,  where  they  fortified ;  but  two  six- 
pounders  had  been  hauled  out,  and  were  turned 
on  their  works.  The  four  troops  of  cavalry  stood 
to  horse  on  the  plains  all  day,  waiting  for  the  poor 
wretches  to  come  out,  while  the  guns  roared, 

45 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

ploughing  the  frozen  dirt  and  snow  over  their  lit 
tle  stronghold;  but  they  did  not  come  out  It 
was  known  that  all  the  provisions  they  had  was 
the  dead  horse  of  a  corporal  of  E  Troop,  which 
had  been  shot  within  twenty  paces  of  their  rifle- 
pits. 

So,  too,  the  soldiers  were  starving,  and  the  poor 
Orphans  had  only  crackers  to  eat.  They  were 
freezing  also,  and  murmuring  to  be  led  to  "  the 
charge,"  that  they  might  end  it  there,  but  they 
were  an  orphan  troop,  and  must  wait  for  others 
to  say.  The  sergeant  even  asked  an  officer  to  let 
them  go,  but  was  peremptorily  told  to  get  back  in 
the  ranks. 

The  guns  ceased  at  night,  while  the  troops  drew 
off  to  build  fires,  warm  their  rigid  fingers,  thaw 
out  their  buffalo  moccasins,  and  munch  crackers, 
leaving  a  strong  guard  around  the  Cheyennes.  In 
the  night  there  was  a  shooting — the  Indians  had 
charged  through  and  had  gone. 

The  day  following  they  were  again  surrounded 
on  some  bluffs,  and  the  battle  waged  until  night. 
Next  day  there  was  a  weak  fire  from  the  Indian 
position  on  the  impregnable  bluffs,  and  present 
ly  it  ceased  entirely.  The  place  was  approached 
with  care  and  trepidation,  but  was  empty.  Two 
Indian  boys,  with  their  feet  frozen,  had  been  left 
as  decoys,  and  after  standing  off  four  troops  of 

46 


A   SERGEANT   OF   THE  ORPHAN   TROOP 

cavalry  for  hours,  they  too  had  in  some  mysteri 
ous  way  departed. 

But  the  pursuit  was  relentless ;  on,  on  over  the 
rolling  hills  swept  the  famishing  troopers,  and 
again  the  Spartan  band  turned  at  bay,  firmly  in 
trenched  on  a  bluff  as  before.  This  was  the  last 
stand — nature  was  exhausted.  The  soldiers  sur 
rounded  them,  and  Major  Wessells  turned  the 
handle  of  the  human  vise.  The  command  gath 
ered  closer  about  the  doomed  pits — they  crawled 
on  their  bellies  from  one  stack  of  sage-brush  to 
the  next.  They  were  freezing.  The  order  to 
charge  came  to  the  Orphan  Troop,  and  yelling 
his  command,  Sergeant  Johnson  ran  forward.  Up 
from  the  sage-brush  floundered  the  stiffened  troop 
ers,  following  on.  They  ran  over  three  Indians, 
who  lay  sheltered  in  a  little  cut,  and  these  killed 
three  soldiers  together  with  an  old  frontier  ser 
geant  who  wore  long  hair,  but  they  were  destroyed 
in  turn.  While  the  Orphans  swarmed  under  the 
hill,  a  rattling  discharge  poured  from  the  rifle-pits ; 
but  the  troop  had  gotten  under  the  fire,  and  it  all 
passed  over  their  heads.  On  they  pressed,  their 
blood  now  quickened  by  excitement,  crawling  up 
the  steep,  while  volley  on  volley  poured  over  them. 
Within  nine  feet  of  the  pits  was  a  rim-rock  ledge 
over  which  the  Indian  bullets  swept,  and  here  the 
charge  was  stopped.  It  now  became  a  duel. 

47 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

Every  time  a  head  showed  on  either  side,  it  drew 
fire  like  a  flue -hole.  Suddenly  our  Virginian 
sprang  on  the  ledge,  and  like  a  trill  on  a  piano 
poured  a  six-shooter  into  the  intrenchment,  and 
dropped  back. 

Major  Wessells,  who  was  commanding  the  whole 
force,  crawled  to  the  position  of  the  Orphan  Troop, 
saying,  "  Doing  fine  work,  boys.  Sergeant,  I 
would  advise  you  to  take  off  that  red  scarf  " — 
when  a  bullet  cut  the  major  across  the  breast, 
whirling  him  around  and  throwing  him.  A  sol 
dier,  one  Lannon,  sprang  to  him  and  pulled  him 
down  the  bluff,  the  major  protesting  that  he  was 
not  wounded,  which  proved  to  be  true,  the  bullet 
having  passed  through  his  heavy  clothes. 

The  troops  had  drawn  up  on  the  other  sides, 
and  a  perfect  storm  of  bullets  whirled  over  the  in- 
trenchments.  The  powder  blackened  the  faces  of 
the  men,  and  they  took  off  their  caps  or  had  them 
shot  off.  To  raise  the  head  for  more  than  a 
fraction  of  a  second  meant  death. 

Johnson  had  exchanged  five  shots  with  a  fine- 
looking  Cheyenne,  and  every  time  he  raised  his 
eye  to  a  level  with  the  rock  White  Antelope's 
gun  winked  at  him. 

"  You  will  get  killed  directly,"  yelled  Lannon  to 
Johnson  ;  "  they  have  you  spotted." 

The  smoke  blew  and  eddied  over  them ;  again 

43 


A   SERGEANT   OF   THE   ORPHAN   TROOP 

Johnson  rose,  and  again  White  Antelope's  pistol 
cracked  an  accompaniment  to  his  own;  but  with 
movement  like  lightning  the  sergeant  sprang 
through  the  smoke,  and  fairly  shoving  his  carbine 
to  White  Antelope's  breast,  he  pulled  the  trigger. 
A  5<>calibre  gun  boomed  in  Johnson's  face,  and  a 
volley  roared  from  the  pits,  but  he  fell  backward 
into  cover.  His  comrades  set  him  up  to  see  if 
any  red  stains  came  through  the  grime,  but  he 
was  unhurt. 

The  firing  grew;  a  blue  haze  hung  over  the 
hill.  Johnson  again  looked  across  the  glacis,  but 
again  his  eye  met  the  savage  glare  of  White  An- 
telope. 

"  I  haven't  got  him  yet,  Lannon,  but  I  will ;" 
and  Sergeant  Johnson  again  slowly  reloaded  his 
pistol  and  carbine. 

"  Now,  men,  give  them  a  volley !"  ordered  the 
enraged  man,  and  as  volley  answered  volley, 
through  the  smoke  sprang  the  daring  soldier,  and 
standing  over  White  Antelope  as  the  smoke 
swirled  and  almost  hid  him,  he  poured  his  six 
balls  into  his  enemy,  and  thus  died  one  brave 
man  at  the  hands  of  another  in  fair  battle.  The 
sergeant  leaped  back  and  lay  down  among  the 
men,  stunned  by  the  concussions.  He  said  he 
would  do  no  more.  His  mercurial  temperament 
had  undergone  a  change,  or,  to  put  it  better,  he 

D  49 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

conceived  it  to  be  outrageous  to  fight  these  poor 
people,  five  against  one.  He  characterized  it  as 

"  a   d infantry   fight,"  and    rising,  talked  in 

Sioux  to  the  enemy — asked  them  to  surrender,  or 
they  must  otherwise  die.  A  young  girl  answered 
him,  and  said  they  would  like  to.  An  old  woman 
sprang  on  her  and  cut  her  throat  with  a  dull  knife, 
yelling  meanwhile  to  the  soldiers  that "  they  would 
never  surrender  alive,"  and  saying  what  she  had 
done. 

Many  soldiers  were  being  killed,  and  the  fire 
from  the  pits  grew  weaker.  The  men  were  beside 
themselves  with  rage.  "  Charge !"  rang  through 
the  now  still  air  from  some  strong  voice,  and,  with 
a  volley,  over  the  works  poured  the  troops,  with 
six-shooters  going,  and  clubbed  carbines.  Yells, 
explosions,  and  amid  a  whirlwind  of  smoke  the 
soldiers  and  Indians  swayed  about,  now  more 
slowly  and  quieter,  until  the  smoke  eddied  away. 
Men  stood  still,  peering  about  with  wild  open  eyes 
through  blackened  faces.  They  held  desperately 
to  their  weapons.  An  old  bunch  of  buckskin 
rags  rose  slowly  and  fired  a  carbine  aimlessly. 
Twenty  bullets  rolled  and  tumbled  it  along  the 
ground,  and  again  the  smoke  drifted  off  the  mount. 
This  time  the  air  grew  clear.  Buffalo-robes  lay 
all  about,  blood  spotted  everywhere.  The  dead 
bodies  of  thirty-two  Cheyennes  lay,  writhed  and 

50 


A   SERGEANT  OF  THE  ORPHAN   TROOP 

twisted,  on  the  packed  snow,  and  among  them 
many  women  and  children,  cut  and  furrowed  with 
lead.  In  a  corner  was  a  pile  of  wounded  squaws, 
half  covered  with  dirt  swept  over  them  by  the 
storm  of  bullets.  One  broken  creature  half 
raised  herself  from  the  bunch.  A  maddened 
trumpeter  threw  up  his  gun  to  shoot,  but  Sergeant 
Johnson  leaped  and  kicked  his  gun  out  of  his 
hands  high  into  the  air,  saying,  "This  fight  is 


over." 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  MAHONGUI 


IT  is  so  I  have  called  this  old  document,  which 
is  an  extract  from  the  memoirs  of  le  Chevalier 
Bailloquet,  a  Frenchman  living  in  Canada,  where 
he  was  engaged  in  the  Indian  fur  trade,  about  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  as  yet  they 
are  unpublished. 

It  is  written  in  English,  since  the  author  lived 
his  latter  life  in  England,  having  left  Canada  as  the 
result  of  troubles  with  the  authorities. 

He  was  captured  by  the  Iroquois,  and  after  liv 
ing  with  them  some  time,  made  his  escape  to  the 
Dutch. 

My  Chevalier  rambles  somewhat,  although  I 
have  been  at  pains  to  cut  out  extraneous  matter. 
It  is  also  true  that  many  will  not  believe  him  in 
these  days,  for  out  of  their  puny  volition  they  will 
analyze,  and  out  of  their  discontent  they  will  scoff. 
But  to  those  I  say,  Go  to  your  microbes,  your 
statistics,  your  volts,  and  your  bicycles,  and  leave 
me  the  truth  of  other  days. 

52 


r 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   MAHONGUI 

The  Chevalier  was  on  a  voyage  from  Quebec  to 
Montreal ;  let  him  begin : 

The  next  day  we  embarqued,  though  not  wthout  con- 
fufion,  becaufe  many  weare  not  content,  nor  fatiffied. 
What  a  pleafure  ye  two  fathers  to  fee  them  trott  up  and 
downe  ye  rocks  to  gett  their  manage  into  ye  boat.  The 
boats  weare  fo  loaded  that  many  could  not  proceed  if 
foul  weather  fhould  happen.  I  could  not  perfuade  myfelf 
to  ftay  wth  this  concourfe  as  ye  weather  was  faire  for  my 
journie.  Wthout  adoe,  I  gott  my  fix  wild  men  to  paddle 
on  ye  way. 

This  was  a  fatal  embarquation,  butt  I  did  not  miftruft 
that  ye  Iriquoits  weare  abroad  m  ye  foreft,  for  I  had 
been  at  ye  Peace.  Neverthelefs  I  find  that  thefe  wild 
men  doe  naught  butt  what  they  refolve  out  of  their 
bloodie  mindednefs.  We  paffed  the  Point  going  out  of 
ye  Lake  St.  Peter,  when  ye  Barbars  appeared  on  ye 
watter-fide  discharging  their  mufkets  at  us,  and  embarqu- 
ing  for  our  purfuit. 

"  Kohe— kohe !" — came  nearer  ye  fearfome  warre  cry 
of  ye  Iriquoit,  making  ye  hearts  of  ye  poore  Hurron  & 
ffrench  alike  to  turn  to  water  in  their  breafts.  2  of  my 
favages  weare  ftrook  downe  at  ye  firft  difcharge  &  an 
other  had  his  paddle  cutt  in  twain,  befides  fhott  holes 
through  wch  the  watter  poured  apace.  Thus  weare  we 
diminifhed  and  could  not  draw  off. 

The  Barbars  weare  daubed  wth  paint,  wch  is  ye  figne  of 
warre.  They  coming  againft  our  boat  ftruck  downe  our 
Hurrons  wth  hattchetts,  fuch  as  did  not  jump  into  the 
watter,  where  alfo  they  weare  in  no  wife  faved. 

But  in  my  boat  was  a  Hurron  Captayne,  who  all  his 

53 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

life-time  had  killed  many  Iriquoits  &  by  his  name  for 
vallor  had  come  to  be  a  great  Captayne  att  home  and 
abroad.  We  weare  refolved  fome  execution  &  wth  our 
gunns  dealt  a  difcharge  &  drew  our  cutlaffes  to  ftrike  ye 
foe.  They  environed  us  as  we  weare  finking,  and  one 
fpake  faying — "  Brothers,  cheere  up  and  affure  yourfelfe 
you  fhall  not  be  killed ;  thou  art  both  men  and  Cap- 
taynes,  as  I  myfelf  am,  and  I  will  die  in  thy  defenfe." 
And  ye  afforefaid  crew  fhewed  fuch  a  horrid  noise,  of 
a  sudden  ye  Iriquoit  Captayne  took  hold  about  me — 
"  Thou  fhalt  not  die  by  another  hand  than  mine." 

Ye  favages  layd  bye  our  armes  &  tyed  us  faft  in  a 
boat,  one  in  one  boat  and  one  in  another.  We  proceeded 
up  ye  river,  rather  fleeping  than  awake,  for  I  thought 
never  to  efcape. 

Att  near  funfett  we  weare  taken  on  ye  fhore,  where 
ye  wild  men  encamped  bye  making  cottages  of  rind  from 
off  ye  trees.  They  tyed  ye  Hurron  Captayne  to  a  trunk, 
he  refolving  moft  bravely  but  deffparred  to  me,  and  I  too 
deffparred.  Neverthelefs  he  fang  his  fatal  fong  though 
ye  fire  made  him  as  one  wth  the  ague.  They  tooke  out 
his  heart  and  cut  off  fome  of  ye  flefh  of  ye  miferable, 
boyled  it  and  eat  it.  This  they  wifhed  not  to  doe  att 
this  time,  but  that  ye  Hurron  had  been  fhott  wth  a  ball 
under  his  girdle  where  it  was  not  feen,  though  he  would 
have  died  of  his  defperate  wound.  That  was  the  mifer 
able  end  of  that  wretch. 

Whilft  they  weare  bufy  wth  ye  Hurron,  they  having 
ftripped  me  naked,  tyed  me  above  ye  elbows,  and 
wrought  a  rope  about  my  middle.  They  afked  me 
(everal  queftions,  I  not  being  able  to  anfwer,  they  gave 
me  great  blows  wth  their  fifts,  then  pulled  out  one  of 

54 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   MAHONGUI 

my  nails.  Having  loft  all  hopes,  I  refolved  altogether 
to  die,  itt  being  folly  to  think  otherwife. 

I  could  not  flee,  butt  was  flung  into  a  boat  att  daylight. 
Ye  boats  went  all  abreaft,  ye  wild  men  finging  fome  of 
their  fatal  fongs,  others  their  howls  of  victory,  ye  wild 
"  Kohes,"  beating  giens  &  parchments,  blowing  whiftles, 
and  all  manner  of  tumult. 

Thus  did  we  proceed  wth  these  ravening  wolves,  God 
having  delivered  a  Chriftian  into  ye  power  of  Satan. 

I  was  nott  ye  only  one  in  ye  claws  of  thefe  wolves, 
for  we  fell  in  wth  150  more  of  thefe  cruels,  who  had 
Hurron  captyves  to  ye  number  of  33  victimes,  wth  heads 
alfoe  ftuck  on  poles,  of  those  who  in  God's  mercie  weare 
gone  from  their  miferies.  As  for  me,  I  was  put  in  a  boat 
wth  one  who  had  his  fingers  cutt  &  bourned.  I  afked 
him  why  ye  Iriquoits  had  broak  ye  Peace,  and  he  faid 
they  had  told  him  ye  ffrench  had  broak  ye  Peace ;  that 
ye  ffrench  had  fet  their  pack  of  doggs  on  an  olde  Iriquoit 
woman  who  was  eat  up  alive  &  that  ye  Iriquoits  had 
told  ye  Hurron  wild  men  that  they  had  killed  ye  doggs, 
alfoe  Hurrons  and  ffrench,  faying  that  as  to  ye  captyves, 
they  would  boyl  doggs,  Hurrons,  and  ffrench  in  ye  fame 
kettle. 

A  great  rain  arofe,  ye  Iriquoits  going  to  ye  watter- 
fide  did  cover  themfelvs  wth  their  boats,  holding  ye  cap 
tyves  ye  meanwhile  bye  ropes  bound  about  our  ancles, 
while  we  ftood  out  in  ye  ftorm,  wch  was  near  to  caufing 
me  death  from  my  nakednefs.  When  ye  rain  had 
abated,  we  purfued  our  way  killing  ftaggs,  &  I  was 
given  fome  entrails,  wch  before  I  had  only  a  little 
parched  come  to  ye  extent  of  my  handfull. 

At  a  point  we  mett  a  gang  of  ye  head  hunters  all  on 

55 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

ye  fhore,  dancing  about  a  tree  to  wch  was  tyed  a  fine 
ffrench  maftiff  dogg,  wch  was  ftanding  on  its  hinder 
leggs,  being  lafhed  up  againft  a  tree  by  its  middle.  Ye 
dogg  was  in  a  great  terror,  and  frantic  in  its  bonds.  I 
knew  him  for  a  dogg  from  ye  fort  att  Mont-royal,  kept 
for  to  give  warnings  of  ye  Enemy's  approach.  It  was  a 
ftrange  fight  for  to  fee  ye  Heathen  rage  about  ye  noble 
dogg,  but  he  itt  was  neverthelefs  wch  brought  ye  Barbars 
againft  us.  He  was  only  gott  wth  great  difficulty,  hav 
ing  killed  one  Barbar,  and  near  to  ferving  others  like- 
wife. 

They  untyed  ye  dogg,  I  holding  him  one  fide,  and  ye 
other,  wth  cords  they  brought  and  tyed  him  in  ye  bow 
of  a  boat  wth  6  warriors  to  paddle  him.  Ye  dogg  boat 
was  ye  Head,  while  ye  reft  came  on  up  ye  river  finging 
fatal  fongs,  triumph  fongs,  piping,  howling,  &  ye  dogg 
above  all  wth  his  great  noife.  Ye  Barbars  weare  more 
delighted  att  ye  captyve  dogg  than  att  all  of  us  poore 
Chriftians,  for  that  they  did  fay  he  was  no  dogg.  Ye 
doggs  wch  ye  wild  men  have  are  nott  fo  great  as  wolves, 
they  being  little  elfe  &  fmall  att  that.  Ye  maftiff  was 
confidered  as  a  confequence  to  be  a  great  intereft.  This 
one  had  near  defeated  their  troupe  &  now  was  to  be 
horridly  killed  after  ye  bloody  way  of  ye  wild  men. 

Att  camp  they  weare  fleep  moft  of  ye  night,  they 
being  aweary  wth  ye  torture  of  ye  Hurron  Captayne 
previoufly.  Ye  dogg  was  tyed  &  layd  nott  far  off  from 
where  I  was  alfoe  tyed,  butt  over  him  weare  2  olde  men, 
who  guarded  him  of  a  fear  he  would  eat  away  his  ropes. 
Thefe  men  weare  Elders  or  Priefts,  fuch  as  are  efteemed 
for  their  power  over  fpirits,  &  they  did  keep  up  their 
devil's  fong  ye  night  thro. 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   MAHONGUI 

I  made  a  vertue  of  neceffity  &  did  fleep,  butt  was 
early  caft  into  a  boat  to  go  on  towards  ye  Enemy's 
countrie,  tho  we  had  raw  meat  given  us,  wth  blows  on 
ye  mouth  to  make  us  ye  more  quickly  devour  itt.  An 
Iriquoit  who  was  the  Captayne  in  our  boat,  bade  me  to 
be  of  a  good  courage,  as  they  would  not  hurt  me.  Ye 
(mall  knowledge  I  had  of  their  fpeech  made  a  better 
hope,  butt  one  who  could  have  underftood  them  would 
have  been  certainly  in  a  great  terror. 

Thus  we  journied  8  days  on  ye  Lake  Champlaine, 
where  ye  wind  and  waves  did  fore  befet  our  endeavors 
att  times.  As  for  meate  we  wanted  none,  as  we  had  a 
ftore  of  ftaggs  along  ye  watter-fide.  We  killed  fome 
every  day,  more  for  fport  than  for  need.  We  finding 
them  on  Hies,  made  them  go  into  ye  watter,  &  after  we 
killed  above  a  fcore,  we  clipped  ye  ears  of  ye  reft  & 
hung  bells  on  them,  and  then  lett  them  loofe.  What  a 
fport  to  fee  ye  reft  flye  from  them  that  had  ye  bells ! 

There  came  out  of  ye  vaft  foreft  a  multitude  of  bears, 
300  at  leaft  together,  making  a  horrid  noife,  breaking  ye 
fmall  trees.  We  fhott  att  them,  butt  they  ftirred  not  a 
ftep.  We  weare  much  frightened  that  they  ftirred  nott 
att  our  fhooting.  Ye  great  ffrench  dogg  would  fain  en 
counter  them  notwithstanding  he  was  tyed.  He  made 
ye  watter-fide  to  ring  wth  his  heavy  voife  &  from  his 
eyes  came  flames  of  fyre  &  clouds  from  out  his  mouth. 
The  bears  did  ftraightway  fly  wch  much  cheered  ye  Iri- 
quoits.  One  faid  to  me  they  weare  refolved  nott  to 
murder  ye  dogg,  wch  was  a  ftone-God  in  ye  dogg  fhape, 
or  a  witch,  butt  I  could  nott  fully  underftand.  Ye  wild 
men  faid  they  had  never  heard  their  fathers  fpeak  of  fo 
many  bears. 

57 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

When  we  putt  ye  kettle  on,  ye  wild  man  who  had 
captured  me,  gave  me  of  meate  to  eat,  &  told  me  a 
ftory.  "  Brother,"  fays  he,  "  itt  is  a  thing  to  be  admired 
to  goe  afar  to  travell.  You  muft  know  that  tho  I  am 
olde,  I  have  always  loved  ye  {French  for  their  goodnefs, 
but  they  fhould  have  given  us  to  kill  ye  Algonkins.  We 
fhould  not  warre  again  ft  ye  ffrench,  butt  trade  wth  them 
for  Caftors,  who  are  better  for  traffic  than  ye  Dutch.  I 
was  once  a  Captayne  of  13  men  againft  ye  Altignaonan- 
ton  &  ye  ffrench.  We  ftayed  3  whole  winters  among 
ye  Ennemy,  butt  in  ye  daytime  durft  not  marche  nor 
ftay  out  of  ye  deep  foreft.  We  killed  many,  butt  there 
weare  devils  who  took  my  fon  up  in  ye  air  fo  I  could 
never  again  get  him  back.  Thefe  devils  weare  as  bigg 
as  horriniacs,*  &  ye  little  blue  birds  wch  attend  upon 
them,  faid  itt  was  time  for  us  to  go  back  to  our  people, 
wch  being  refolved  to  do,  we  came  back,  butt  nott  of  a 
fear  of  ye  Ennemy.  Our  warre  fong  grew  ftill  on  our 
lipps,  as  ye  fnow  falling  in  ye  foreft.  I  have  nott  any 
more  warred  to  the  North,  until  I  was  told  by  ye  fpirits 
to  go  to  ye  ffrench  &  recover  my  fon.  My  friend,  I 
have  dreamed  you  weare  my  fon ;"  and  henceforth  I 
was  not  hurted  nor  ftarved  for  food. 

We  proceeded  thro  rivers  &  lakes  &  thro  forefts 
where  I  was  made  to  fupport  burdens.  When  we 
weare  come  to  ye  village  of  ye  Iriquoits  we  lay  in  ye 
woods  becaufe  that  they  would  nott  go  into  ye  village 
in  ye  night  time. 

The  following  day  we  weare  marched  into  ye  brought 
of  ye  Iriquoits.  When  we  came  in  fight  we  heard  noth- 

*  Moose.  t  Borough. 

58 


LL. 


THE   OMEN   OF   THF.   LITTLE   BLUE   BIRDS 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   MAHONGUI 

ing  butt  outcryes  from  one  fide,  as  from  ye  other. 
Then  came  a  mighty  hoft  of  people  &  payd  great  heed 
to  ye  ffrench  dogg,  wch  was  ledd  bye  2  men  while  round 
about  his  neck  was  a  girdle  of  porcelaine.  They  tor 
mented  ye  poore  Hurrons  wth  violence,  butt  about  me 
was  hung  a  long  piece  of  porcelaine — ye  girdle  of  my 
captor,  &  he  ftood  againft  me.  In  ye  meanwhile,  many 
of  ye  village  came  about  us,  among  \vch  a  goode  olde 
woman  &  a  boy  wth  a  hattchett  came  neere  me.  Ye 
olde  woman  covered  me,  &  ye  boy  took  me  by  my 
hand  and  led  mee  out  of  ye  companie.  What  com 
forted  me  was  that  I  had  efcaped  ye  blowes.  They 
brought  me  into  ye  village  where  ye  olde  woman 
fhowed  me  kindnefs.  She  took  me  into  her  cottage, 
&  gave  me  to  eat,  butt  my  great  terror  took  my  ftum- 
ack  away  from  me.  I  had  ftayed  an  hour  when  a  great 
companie  came  to  fee  me,  of  olde  men  wth  pipes  in  their 
mouths.  For  a  time  they  fat  about,  when  they  did  lead 
me  to  another  cabbin,  wre  they  fmoked  &  made  me  ap 
prehend  they  fhould  throw  me  into  ye  fyre.  Butt  itt 
proved  otherwife,  for  ye  olde  woman  followed  me, 
fpeaking  aloud,  whome  they  anfwered  wth  a  loud  ho, 
then  fhee  tooke  her  girdle,  and  about  me  fhe  tyed  itt, 
fo  brought  me  to  her  cottage  &  made  me  to  fitt  downe. 
Then  fhe  gott  me  Indian  corne  toafted,  &  took  away 
ye  paint  ye  fellows  had  ftuck  to  my  face.  A  maide 
greafed  &  combed  my  haire,  &  ye  olde  woman  danced 
and  fung,  while  my  father  bourned  tobacco  on  a  ftone. 
They  gave  me  a  blew  coverlitt,  ftockings,  and  fhoes.  I 
layed  wth  her  fon  &  did  w*  I  could  to  get  familiarity  wth 
them,  and  I  fuffered  no  wrong,  yet  I  was  in  a  terror,  for 
ye  fatal  fongs  came  from  ye  poore  Hurrons.  Ye  olde 

59 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

man  inquired  whether  I  was  Afferony,  a  ffrench.  I 
affured  him  no,  faying  I  was  Panugaga,  that  is  of  their 
nation,  for  wch  he  was  pleafed. 

My  father  feafted  200  men.  My  fifters  made  me  clean 
for  that  purpofe,  and  greafed  my  haire.  They  tyed  me 
wth  2  necklaces  of  porcelaine  &  garters  of  ye  fame.  My 
father  gave  me  a  hattchett  in  my  hand. 

My  father  made  a  fpeech,  fhowing  many  demonftra- 
tions  of  vallor,  broak  a  kettle  of  cagamite  wth  a  hattchett. 
So  they  fung,  as  is  their  ufual  cuftom.  Ye  banquette 
being  over,  all  cryed  to  me  "  Shagon,  Orimha  " — that  is 
" be  hearty!"  Every  one  withdrew  to  his  quarters. 

Here  follows  a  long  account  of  his  daily  life 
among  the  Indians,  his  hunting  and  observations, 
which  our  space  forbids.  He  had  become  mean 
while  more  familiar  with  the  language.  He  goes  on : 

My  father  came  into  ye  cabbin  from  ye  grand  caftle 
&  he  fat  him  downe  to  fmoke.  He  faid  ye  Elders  had 
approved  after  much  debate,  &  that  ye  ffrench  dogg  was 
not  a  witch,  but  ye  great  warrior  Mahongui,  gone  before, 
whofe  fpirit  had  rofe  up  into  ye  ffrench  dogg  &  had 
fpyed  ye  ffrench.  Att  ye  council  even  foe  ye  dogg  had 
walked  into  ye  centre  of  ye  great  cabbin,  there  faying 
loudly  to  ye  Elders  what  he  was  &  that  he  muft  be  heard. 
His  voice  muft  be  obeyed.  His  was  not  ye  mocking 
cryes  of  a  witch  from  under  an  olde  fnake-fkin,  butt  a 
chief  come  from  Paradife  to  comfort  his  own  people. 
My  father  afked  me  if  I  was  agreed.  I  faid  that  witches 
did  not  battile  as  openly  as  ye  dogg,  butt  doe  their  evil 
in  ye  dark. 

60 


THE   SPIRIT  OF  MAHONGUI 

Thefe  wild  men  are  fore  befet  wth  witches  and  devils 
— more  than  Chriftians,  as  they  deferve  to  be,  for  they 
are  of  Satan's  own  belonging. 

My  father  dreamed  att  night,  &  fang  about  itt,  making 
ye  fire  to  bourne  in  our  cabbin.  We  fatt  to  liften.  He 
had  mett  ye  ffrench  dogg  in  ye  foreft  path  bye  night — 
he  ftanding  accrofs  his  way,  &  ye  foreft  was  light  from  ye 
dogg's  eyes,  who  fpake  to  my  father  faying,  "  I  belong 
to  ye  dead  folks — my  hattchett  is  ruft — my  bow  is  mould 
—I  can  no  longer  battile  wth  our  Ennemy,  butt  I  hover 
over  you  in  warre — I  direct  your  arrows  to  their  breafts 
— I  fmoothe  ye  little  dry  fticks  &  wett  ye  leaves  under 
ye  fhoes — I  draw  ye  morning  mift  accrofs  to  fhield  you 
— I  carry  ye  '  Kohes '  back  and  fore  to  bring  your  terror 
— I  fling  afide  ye  foeman's  bulletts  —  go  back  and  be 
ftrong  in  council." 

My  father  even  in  ye  night  drew  ye  Elders  in  ye  grand 
cabbin.  He  faid  what  he  had  feen  and  heard.  Even 
then  the  great  ffrench  dogg  gott  from  ye  darknefs  of  ye 
cabbin,  &  ftrode  into  ye  fyre.  He  roared  enough  to 
blow  downe  caftles  in  his  might  &  they  knew  he  was 
faying  what  he  had  told  unto  my  father. 

A  great  Captayne  fent  another  night,  &  had  ye  Elders 
for  to  gather  at  ye  grande  cabbin.  He  had  been  pad 
dling  his  boat  upon  ye  river  when  ye  dogg  of  Mahongui 
had  walked  out  on  ye  watter  thro  ye  mift.  He  was 
taller  than  ye  foreft.  So  he  fpake,  faying  "  Mahongui 
fays— go  tell  ye  people  of  ye  Panugaga,  itt  is  time  for 
warre— ye  corne  is  gathered — ye  deer  has  changed  his 
coat — there  are  no  more  Hurrons  for  me  to  eat.  What 
is  a  Panugaga  village  wth  no  captyves  ?  Ye  young  men 
will  talk  as  women  doe,  &  ye  Elders  will  grow  content 

61 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

to   watch  a   f  now -bird    hopp.     Mahongui   fays   itt   is 
time." 

Again  att  ye  council  fyre  ye  fpirit  dogg  ftrode  from 
ye  darknefs  &  faid  itt  was  time.  Ye  tobacco  was 
bourned  by  ye  Priefts.  In  ye  fmoke  ye  Elders  be 
held  ye  Spirit  of  Mahongui.  "  Panugaga— Warre." 

Soe  my  father  faw  ye  ghoft  of  ye  departed  one.  He 
fmoked  long  bye  our  cabbin  fyre.  He  fang  his  battile 
fong.  I  afked  him  to  goe  myfelf,  even  wth  a  hattchett, 
as  I  too  was  Panugaga.  Butt  he  would  in  no  wife 
liften.  "  You  are  nott  meet,"  he  fays,  "  you  fayeft  that 
your  God  is  above.  How  will  you  make  me  believe 
that  he  is  as  goode  as  your  black  coats  say?  They  doe 
lie  &  you  fee  ye  contrary ;  ffor  firft  of  all,  ye  Sun 
bournes  us  often,  ye  rain  wetts  us,  ye  winde  makes  us 
have  fhipwrake,  ye  thunder,  ye  lightening  bournes  & 
kills  us,  &  all  comes  from  above,  &  you  fay  that  itt  is 
goode  to  be  there.  For  my  part,  I  will  nott  go  there. 
Contrary  they  fay  that  ye  reprobates  &  guilty  goeth 
downe  &  bourne.  They  are  miftaken ;  all  is  goode 
heare.  Do  nott  you  fee  that  itt  is  ye  Earthe  that 
noui-ifhes  all  living  creatures — ye  watter,  ye  fifties,  &  ye 
yus,  and  that  corne  &  all  other  fruits  come  up,  &  that  all 
things  are  nott  foe  contrary  to  us  as  that  from  above  ? 
Ye  devils  live  in  ye  air  &  they  took  my  fon.  When 
you  fee  that  ye  Earthe  is  our  Mother,  then  you  will  fee 
that  all  things  on  itt  are  goode.  Ye  Earthe  was  made 
for  ye  Panugaga,  &  ye  fouls  of  our  warriors  help  us 
againft  our  Ennemy.  Ye  ffrench  dogg  is  Mahongui's 
fpirit.  He  tells  us  to  goe  to  warre  againft  ye  ffrench. 
Would  a  ffrench  dogg  doe  that  ?  You  are  nott  yett 
Panugaga  to  follow  your  father  in  warre." 

62 


THE  ESSENTIALS  AT  FORT 
ADOBE 


THE  Indian  suns  himself  before  the  door  of  his 
tepee,  dreaming  of  the  past.  For  a  long  time  now 
he  has  eaten  of  the  white  man's  lotos — the  bi 
monthly  beef -issue.  I  looked  on  him  and  won 
dered  at  the  new  things.  The  buffalo,  the  war 
path,  all  are  gone.  What  of  the  cavalrymen  over 
at  Adobe — his  Nemesis  in  the  stirring  days — are 
they,  too,  lounging  in  barracks,  since  his  lordship 
no  longer  leads  them  trooping  over  the  burning 
flats  by  day  and  through  the  ragged  hills  by  night? 
I  will  go  and  see. 

The  blistered  faces  of  men,  the  gaunt  horses 
dragging  stiffly  along  to  the  cruel  spurring,  the 
dirty  lack-lustre  of  campaigning — that,  of  course, 
is  no  more.  Will  it  be  parades,  and  those  soul- 
deadening  "fours  right"  and  "column  lef t "  affairs  ? 
Oh,  my  dear,  let  us  hope  not. 

Nothing  is  so  necessary  in  the  manufacture  of 

63 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

soldiers,  sure  enough,  but  it  is  not  hard  to  learn, 
and  once  a  soldier  knows  it  I  can  never  understand 
why  it  should  be  drilled  into  him  until  it  hurts. 
Besides,  from  another  point  of  view,  soldiers  in 
rows  and  in  lines  do  not  compose  well  in  pictures. 
I  always  feel,  after  seeing  infantry  drill  in  an 
armory,  like  Kipling's  light -house  keeper,  who 
went  insane  looking  at  the  cracks  between  the 
boards — they  were  all  so  horribly  alike. 

Then  Adobe  is  away  out  West  in  the  blistering 
dust,  with  no  towns  of  any  importance  near  it. 
I  can  understand  why  men  might  become  listless 
when  they  are  at  field-work,  with  the  full  knowl 
edge  that  nothing  but  their  brothers  are  looking 
at  them  save  the  hawks  and  coyotes.  It  is  differ 
ent  from  Meyer,  with  its  traps  full  of  Congressmen 
and  girls,  both  of  whom  are  much  on  the  minds  of 
cavalrymen. 

In  due  course  I  was  bedded  down  at  Adobe  by 
my  old  friend  the  Captain,  and  then  lay  thinking 
of  this  cavalry  business.  It  is  a  subject  which 
thought  does  not  simplify,  but,  like  other  great 
things,  makes  it  complicate  and  recede  from  its 
votaries.  To  know  essential  details  from  unessen 
tial  details  is  the  study  in  all  arts.  Details  there 
must  be ;  they  are  the  small  things  that  make  the 
big  things.  To  apply  this  general  order  of  things 
to  this  arm  of  the  service  kept  me  awake.  There 

64 


THE   ESSENTIALS   AT   FORT   ADOBE 

is  first  the  riding — simple  enough  if  they  catch 
you  young.  There  are  bits,  saddles,  and  cavalry 
packs.  I  know  men  who  have  not  spoken  to  each 
other  in  years  because  they  disagree  about  these. 
There  are  the  sore  backs  and  colics  —  that  is  a 
profession  in  itself.  There  are  judgment  of  pace, 
the  battle  tactics,  the  use  of  three  very  different 
weapons;  there  is  a  world  of  history  in  this,  in 
forty  languages.  Then  an  ever-varying  terrain 
tops  all.  There  are  other  things  not  confined  to 
cavalry,  but  regarded  by  all  soldiers.  The  crown 
ing  peculiarity  of  cavalry  is  the  rapidity  of  its 
movement,  whereby  a  commander  can  lose  the 
carefully  built  up  reputation  of  years  in  about  the 
time  it  takes  a  school-boy  to  eat  a  marsh-mallow. 
After  all,  it  is  surely  a  hard  profession  —  a  very 
blind  trail  to  fame.  I  am  glad  I  am  not  a  cavalry 
man;  still,  it  is  the  happiest  kind  of  fun  to  look  on 
when  you  are  not  responsible;  but  it  needs  some 
cultivation  to  understand  and  appreciate. 

I  remember  a  dear  friend  who  had  a  taste  for 
out-of-doors.  He  penetrated  deeply  into  the  inte 
rior  not  long  since  to  see  these  same  troopers  do 
a  line  of  heroics,  with  a  band  of  Bannocks  to  sup 
port  the  role.  The  Indians  could  not  finally  be 
got  on  the  centre  of  the  stage,  but  made  hot-foot 
for  the  agency.  My  friend  could  not  see  any  good 
in  all  this,  nor  was  he  satisfied  with  the  first  act 
E  65 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

even.  He  must  needs  have  a  climax,  and  that  not 
forthcoming,  he  loaded  his  disgust  into  a  trunk 
line  and  brought  it  back  to  his  club  corner  here 
in  New  York.  He  there  narrated  the  failure  of 
his  first  night;  said  the  soldiers  were  not  even 
dusty  as  advertised ;  damned  the  Indians  keenly, 
and  swore  at  the  West  by  all  his  gods. 

There  was  a  time  when  I,  too,  regarded  not  the 
sketches  in  this  art,  but  yearned  for  the  finished 
product.  That,  however,  is  not  exhibited  generally 
over  once  in  a  generation. 

At  Adobe  there  are  only  eight  troops  —  not 
enough  to  make  a  German  nurse -girl  turn  her 
head  in  the  street,  and  my  friend  from  New  York, 
with  his  Napoleonic  largeness,  would  scoff  out 
loud.  But  he  and  the  nurse  do  not  understand 
the  significance ;  they  have  not  the  eyes  to  see. 
A  starboard  or  a  port  horseshoe  would  be  all  one 
to  them,  and  a  crease  in  the  saddle-blanket  the 
smallest  thing  in  the  world,  yet  it  might  spoil  a 
horse. 

When  the  trumpets  went  in  the  morning  I  was 
sorry  I  had  thought  at  all.  It  was  not  light  yet, 
and  I  clung  to  my  pillow.  Already  this  cavalry 
has  too  much  energy  for  my  taste. 

"  If  you  want  to  see  anything,  you  want  to  lead 
out,"  said  the  Captain,  as  he  pounded  me  with  a 
boot. 

66 


THE    ESSENTIALS   AT  FORT  ADOBE 

"  Say,  Captain,  I  suppose  Colonel  Hamilton  is 
sues  this  order  to  get  up  at  this  hour,  doesn't  he  ?" 

"  He  does." 

"Well,  he  has  to  obey  his  own  order,  then, 
doesn't  he?" 

"  He  does." 

I  took  a  good  long  stretch  and  yawn,  and  what 
I  said  about  Colonel  Hamilton  I  will  not  commit 
to  print,  out  of  respect  to  the  Colonel.  Then  I 
got  up. 

This  bitterness  of  bed-parting  passes.  The  Cap 
tain  said  he  would  put  a  "cook's  police"  under 
arrest  for  appearing  in  my  make-up ;  but  all  these 
details  will  be  forgotten,  and  whatever  happens  at 
this  hour  should  be  forgiven.  I  had  just  come 
from  the  North,  where  I  had  been  sauntering  over 
the  territory  of  Montana  with  some  Indians  and  a 
wild  man  from  Virginia,  getting  up  before  light — 
tightening  up  on  coffee  and  bacon  for  twelve  hours 
in  the  saddle  to  prepare  for  more  bacon  and  coffee; 
but  at  Adobe  I  had  hoped  for,  even  if  I  did  not 
expect,  some  repose. 

In  the  east  there  was  a  fine  green  coming  over 
the  sky.  No  one  out  of  the  painter  guild  would 
have  admitted  it  was  green,  even  on  the  rack,  but 
what  I  mean  is  that  you  could  not  approach  it  in 
any  other  way.  A  nice  little  adjutant  went  jangling 
by  on  a  hard-trotting  thoroughbred,  his  shoulders 

67 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

high  and  his  seat  low.  My  old  disease  began  to 
take  possession  of  me ;  I  could  fairly  feel  the 
microbes  generate.  Another  officer  comes  clatter 
ing,  with  his  orderly  following  after.  The  fever 
has  me.  We  mount,  and  we  are  off,  all  going  to 
stables. 

Out  from  the  corrals  swarm  the  troopers,  lead 
ing  their  unwilling  mounts.  The  horses  are  say 
ing,  "  Damn  the  Colonel !"  One  of  them  comes 
in  arching  bounds ;  he  is  saying  worse  of  the 
Colonel,  or  maybe  only  cussing  out  his  own  re 
cruit  for  pulling  his  cincha  too  tight.  They  form 
troop  lines  in  column,  while  the  Captains  throw 
open  eyes  over  the  things  which  would  not  in 
terest  my  friend  from  New  York  or  the  German 
nurse-girl. 

The  two  forward  troops  are  the  enemy,  and  are 
distinguished  by  wearing  brown  canvas  stable- 
frocks.  These  shortly  move  out  through  the  post, 
and  are  seen  no  more. 

Now  comes  the  sun.  By  the  shades  of  Knick 
erbocker's  History  of  New  York  I  seem  now  to 
have  gotten  at  the  beginning ;  but  patience,  the 
sun  is  no  detail  out  in  the  arid  country.  It  does 
more  things  than  blister  your  nose.  It  is  the 
despair  of  the  painter  as  it  colors  the  minarets  of 
the  Bad  Lands  which  abound  around  Adobe,  and 
it  dries  up  the  company  gardens  if  they  don't 

68 


THE  ESSENTIALS   AT   FORT  ADOBE 

watch  the  acequias  mighty  sharp.  To  one  just 
out  of  bed  it  excuses  existence.  I  find  I  begin  to 
soften  towards  the  Colonel.  In  fact,  it  is  possible 
that  he  is  entirely  right  about  having  his  old 
trumpets  blown  around  garrison  at  this  hour, 
though  it  took  the  Captain's  boot  to  prove  it 
shortly  since. 

The  command  moves  out,  trotting  quickly 
through  the  blinding  clouds  of  dust.  The  land 
scape  seems  to  get  right  up  and  mingle  with  the 
excitement.  The  supple,  well-trained  horses  lose 
the  scintillation  on  their  coats,  while  Uncle  Sam's 
blue  is  growing  mauve  very  rapidly.  But  there  is 
a  useful  look  about  the  men,  and  the  horses  show 
condition  after  their  long  practice  march  just  fin 
ished.  Horses  much  used  to  go  under  saddle 
have  well  -  developed  quarters  and  strong  stifle 
action.  Fact  is,  nothing  looks  like  a  horse  with  a 
harness  on.  That  is  a  job  for  mules,  and  these 
should  have  a  labor  organization  and  monopo 
lize  it. 

The  problem  of  the  morning  was  that  we  as  an 
advance  were  to  drive  the  two  troops  which  had 
gone  on  ahead.  These  in  turn  were  to  represent 
a  rapidly  retiring  rear  -  guard.  This  training  is 
more  that  troops  may  be  handled  with  expedition, 
and  that  the  men  may  gather  the  thing,  rather 
than  that  officers  should  do  brilliant  things,  which 

69 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

they  might  undertake  on  their  own  responsibility 
in  time  of  war,  such  as  pushing  rapidly  by  on  one 
flank  and  cutting  out  a  rear-guard. 

Grevious  and  very  much  to  be  commiserated  is 
the  task  of  the  feeling  historian  who  writes  of 
these  paper  wars.  He  may  see  possibilities  or 
calamities  which  do  not  signify.  The  morning 
orders  provide  against  genius,  and  who  will  be 
able  to  estimate  the  surgical  possibilities  of  blank 
cartridges  ?  The  sergeant  -  major  cautioned  me 
not  to  indicate  by  my  actions  what  I  saw  as  we 
rode  to  the  top  of  a  commanding  hill.  The  en 
emy  had  abandoned  the  stream  because  their  re 
treat  would  have  been  exposed  to  fire.  They 
made  a  stand  back  in  the  hills.  The  advance 
felt  the  stream  quickly,  and  passed,  fanning  out  to 
develop.  The  left  flank  caught  their  fire,  whereat 
the  centre  and  right  came  around  at  top  speed. 
But  this  is  getting  so  serious. 

The  scene  was  crowded  with  little  pictures,  all 
happening  quickly — little  dots  of  horsemen  glid 
ing  quickly  along  the  yellow  landscape,  leaving 
long  trails  of  steely  dust  in  their  wake.  A  scout 
comes  trotting  along,  his  face  set  in  an  expectant 
way,  carbine  advanced.  A  man  on  a  horse  is  a 
vigorous,  forceful  thing  to  look  at.  It  embodies 
the  liveliness  of  nature  in  its  most  attractive  form, 
especially  when  a  gun  and  sabre  are  attached. 

70 


JUMPING   ON   A   HORSE 


THE  ESSENTIALS  AT  FORT  ADOBE 

When  both  living  equations  are  young,  full  of 
oats  and  bacon,  imbued  with  military  ideas,  and 
trained  to  the  hour,  it  always  seems  to  me  that 
the  ghost  of  a  tragedy  stalks  at  their  side.  This 
is  why  the  polo-player  does  not  qualify  sentimen 
tally.  But  what  is  one  man  beside  two  troops 
which  come  shortly  in  two  solid  chunks,  with 
horses  snorting  and  sending  the  dry  landscape  in 
a  dusty  pall  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  the  rear? 
It  is  good — ah !  it  is  worth  any  one's  while ;  but 
stop  and  think, what  if  we  could  magnify  that? 
Tut,  tut !  as  I  said  before,  that  only  happens  once 
in  a  generation.  Adobe  doesn't  dream  ;  it  simply 
does  its  morning's  work. 

The  rear -guard  have  popped  at  our  advance, 
which  exchanges  with  them.  Their  fire  grows 
slack,  and  from  our  vantage  we  can  see  them 
mount  quickly  and  flee. 

After  two  hours  of  this  we  shake  hands  with  the 
hostiles  and  trot  home  to  breakfast. 

These  active,  hard -riding,  straight  •  shooting, 
open-order  men  are  doing  real  work,  and  are  not 
being  stupefied  by  drill-ground  routine,  or  rendered 
listless  by  file-closer  prompting  or  sleepy  reitera 
tion. 

By  the  time  the  command  dismounts  in  front 
of  stables  we  turn  longingly  to  the  thoughts  of 
breakfast.  Every  one  has  completely  forgiven  the 

71 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

Colonel,  though  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  be  equal 
ly  unpopular  to-morrow  morning. 

But  what  do  I  see  —  am  I  faint?  No;  it  has 
happened  again.  It  looks  as  though  I  saw  a  sol 
dier  jump  over  a  horse.  I  moved  on  him. 

"  Did  I  see  you—"  I  began. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir — you  see,"  returned  a  little  soldier, 
who  ran  with  the  mincing  steps  of  an  athlete 
towards  his  horse,  and  landed  standing  up  on 
his  hind  quarters,  whereupon  he  settled  down  qui 
etly  into  his  saddle. 

Others  began  to  gyrate  over  and  under  their 
horses  in  a  dizzy  way.  Some  had  taken  their 
saddles  off  and  now  sat  on  their  horses'  bellies, 
while  the  big  dog-like  animals  lay  on  their  backs, 
with  their  feet  in  the  air.  It  was  circus  business, 
or  what  they  call  "  short  and  long  horse  "  work — 
some  not  understandable  phrase.  Every  one  does 
it.  While  I  am  not  unaccustomed  to  looking  at 
cavalry,  I  am  being  perpetually  surprised  by  the 
lengths  to  which  our  cavalry  is  carrying  this  Cos 
sack  drill.  It  is  beginning  to  be  nothing  short  of 
marvellous. 

In  the  old  days  this  thing  was  not  known.  Be 
tween  building  mud  or  log  forts,  working  on  the 
bull-train,  marching  or  fighting,  a  man  and  a  gun 
made  a  soldier;  but  it  takes  an  education  along 
with  this  now  before  he  can  qualify. 

72 


THE  ESSENTIALS  AT  FORT  ADOBE 

The  regular  work  at  Adobe  went  on  during  the 
day — guard  mount,  orders,  inspection,  and  routine. 

At  the  club  I  was  asked,  "  Going  out  this  after- 
noon  with  us  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  is  going  ;  his  horse  will  be  up  at  4.30 ; 
he  wants  to  see  this  cavalry,"  answered  my  friend 
the  Captain  for  me. 

"  Yes ;  it's  fine  moonlight.  The  Colonel  is 
going  to  do  an  attack  on  Cossack  posts  out  in 
the  hills,"  said  the  adjutant. 

So  at  five  o'clock  we  again  sallied  out  in  the 
dust,  the  men  in  the  ranks  next  me  silhouetting 
one  after  the  other  more  dimly  until  they  disap 
peared  in  the  enveloping  cloud.  They  were 
cheerful,  laughing  and  wondering  one  to  another 
if  Captain  Garrard,  the  enemy,  would  get  in  on 
their  pickets.  He  was  regarded  in  the  ranks  as 
a  sharp  fellow,  one  to  be  well  looked  after. 

At  the  line  of  hills  where  the  Colonel  stopped, 
the  various  troops  were  told  off  in  their  positions, 
while  the  long  cool  shadows  of  evening  stole  over 
the  land,  and  the  pale  moon  began  to  grow  bolder 
over  on  the  left  flank. 

I  sat  on  a  hill  with  a  sergeant  who  knew  his 
tory  and  horses.  He  remembered  "  Pansy,"  which 
had  served  sixteen  years  in  the  troop — and  a  first- 
rate  old  horse  then ;  but  a  damned  inspector  with 
no  soul  came  browsing  around  one  day  and  con- 

73 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

demned  that  old  horse.  Government  got  a  mea 
sly  ten  dollars — or  something  like  that.  This  ran 
along  for  a  time ;  when  one  day  they  were  troop 
ing  up  some  lonely  valley,  and,  behold,  there  stood 
"  Pansy,"  as  thin  as  a  snake,  tied  by  a  wickieup. 
He  greeted  the  troop  with  joyful  neighs.  The 
soldiers  asked  the  Captain  to  be  allowed  to  shoot 
him,  but  of  course  he  said  no.  I  could  not  learn 
if  he  winked  when  he  said  it.  The  column  wound 
over  the  hill,  a  carbine  rang  from  its  rear,  and 
"  Pansy  "  lay  down  in  the  dust  without  a  kick. 
Death  is  better  than  an  Indian  for  a  horse.  The 
thing  was  not  noticed  at  the  time,  but  made  a 
world  of  fuss  afterwards,  though  how  it  all  came 
out  the  sergeant  did  not  develop,  nor  was  it  nec 
essary. 

Night  settled  down  on  the  quiet  hills,  and  the 
dark  spots  of  pickets  showed  dimly  on  the  gray 
surface  of  the  land.  The  Colonel  inspected  his 
line,  and  found  everybody  alert  and  possessed  of  a 
good  working  knowledge  of  picket  duties  at  night 
— one  of  the  most  difficult  duties  enlisted  men 
have  to  perform.  It  is  astonishing  how  short  is 
the  distance  at  which  we  can  see  a  picket  even  in 
this  bright  night  on  the  open  hills. 

I  sat  on  my  horse  by  a  sergeant  at  a  point  in 
the  line  where  I  suspected  the  attack  would  come. 
The  sergeant  thought  he  saw  figures  moving  in  a 

74 


f 

i 


THE  ESSENTIALS  AT  FORT  ADOBE 

dry  bottom  before  us.  I  could  not  see.  A  col 
umn  of  dust  off  to  the  left  indicated  troops,  but 
we  thought  it  a  ruse  of  Garrard's.  My  sergeant, 
though,  had  really  seen  the  enemy,  and  said,  soft 
ly,  "  They  are  coming." 

The  bottom  twinkled  and  popped  with  savage 
little  yellow  winks ;  bang !  went  a  rifle  in  my  ear  ; 
"whew!"  snorted  my  big  horse;  and  our  picket 
went  to  the  supports  clattering. 

The  shots  and  yells  followed  fast.  The  Colonel 
had  withdrawn  the  supports  towards  the  post  rapid 
ly,  leaving  his  picket-line  in  the  air — a  thing  which 
happens  in  war ;  but  he  did  not  lose  much  of  that 
line,  I  should  say. 

It  was  an  interesting  drill.  Pestiferous  little 
man  disturbed  nature,  and  it  all  seemed  so  absurd 
out  there  on  those  quiet  gray  hills.  It  made  me 
feel,  as  I  slowed  down  and  gazed  at  the  vastness  of 
things,  like  a  superior  sort  of  bug.  In  the  middle 
distance  several  hundred  troops  are  of  no  more 
proportion  than  an  old  cow  bawling  through  the 
hills  after  her  wolf-eaten  calf.  If  my  mental  vision 
were  not  distorted  I  should  never  have  seen  the 
manoeuvre  at  all  —  only  the  moon  and  the  land 
doing  what  they  have  done  before  for  so  long  a 
time. 

We  reached  Adobe  rather  late,  when  I  found 
that  the  day's  work  had  done  wonders  for  my 

75 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

appetite.      I   reminded   the   Captain   that    I   had 
broken  his  bread  but  once  that  day.  ; 

"  It  is  enough  for  a  Ninth  Cavalry  man,"  he 
observed.  However,  I  out-flanked  this  brutal  dis 
regard  for  established  customs,  but  it  was  "  cold." 

In  the  morning  I  resisted  the  Captain's  boot, 
and  protested  that  I  must  be  let  alone;  which 
being  so,  I  appeared  groomed  and  breakfasted  at 
a  Christian  hour,  fully  persuaded  that  as  between 
an  Indian  and  a  Ninth  Cavalry  man  I  should  elect 
to  be  an  Indian. 

Some  one  must  have  disciplined  the  Colonel. 
I  don't  know  who  it  was.  There  is  only  one 
woman  in  a  post  who  can,  generally ;  but  no  din 
ners  were  spoiled  at  Adobe  by  night-cat  affairs. 

Instead,  during  the  afternoon  we  were  to  see 
Captain  Garrard,  the  hostile,  try  to  save  two  troops 
which  were  pressed  into  the  bend  of  a  river  by 
throwing  over  a  bridge,  while  holding  the  enemy 
in  check.  This  was  as  complicated  as  putting  a 
baby  to  sleep  while  reading  law;  so  clearly  my 
point  of  view  was  with  the  hostiles.  With  them 
I  entered  the  neck.  The  horses  were  grouped  in 
the  brush,  leaving  some  men  who  were  going 
underground  like  gophers  out  near  the  entrance. 
The  brown-canvas-covered  soldiers  grabbed  their 
axes,  rolled  their  eyes  towards  the  open  plain,  and 
listened  expectantly. 

76 


THE  ESSENTIALS  AT  FORT  ADOBE 

The  clear  notes  of  a  bugle  rang;  whackety, 
bang — clack— clack,  went  the  axes.  Trees  fell  all 
around.  The  forest  seemed  to  drop  on  me.  I  got 
my  horse  and  fled  across  the  creek. 

"  That  isn't  fair ;  this  stream  is  supposed  to  be 
impassable,"  sang  out  a  lieutenant,  who  was  doing 
a  Blondin  act  on  the  first  tree  over,  while  beneath 
him  yawned  the  chasm  of  four  or  five  feet. 

In  less  than  a  minute  the  whole  forest  got  up 
again  and  moved  towards  the  bridge.  There  were 
men  behind  it,  but  the  leaves  concealed  them. 
Logs  dropped  over,  brush  piled  on  top.  The 
rifles  rang  in  scattered  volleys,  and  the  enemy's 
fire  rolled  out  beyond  the  brush.  No  bullets 
whistled — that  was  a  redeeming  feature. 

Aside  from  that  it  seemed  as  though  every  man 
was  doing  his  ultimate  act.  They  flew  about ;  the 
shovels  dug  with  despair;  the  sand  covered  the 
logs  in  a  shower.  While  I  am  telling  this  the 
bridge  was  made. 

The  first  horse  came  forward,  led  by  his  rider. 
He  raised  his  eyes  like  St.  Anthony;  he  did  not 
approve  of  the  bridge.  He  put  his  ears  forward, 
felt  with  his  toes,  squatted  behind,  and  made  ner 
vous  side  steps.  The  men  moved  on  him  in  a  solid 
crowd  from  behind.  Stepping  high  and  short  he 
then  bounded  over,  and  after  him  in  a  stream  came 
the  willing  brothers.  Out  along  the  bluffs  strung 

77 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

the  troopers  to  cover  the  heroes  who  had  held  the 
neck,  while  they  destroyed  the  bridge. 

Then  they  rode  home  with  the  enemy,  chaffing 
each  other. 

It  is  only  a  workaday  matter,  all  this ;  but  work 
aday  stuff  does  the  business  nowadays. 


MASSAI'S   CROOKED   TRAIL 


IT  is  a  bold  person  who  will  dare  to  say  that  a 
wilder  savage  ever  lived  than  an  Apache  Indian, 
and  in  this  respect  no  Apache  can  rival  Massai. 

He  was  a  bronco  Chiricahua  whose  tequa  tracks 
were  so  long  and  devious  that  all  of  them  can 
never  be  accounted  for.  Three  regiments  of 
cavalry,  all  the  scouts — both  white  and  black — 
and  Mexicans  galore  had  their  hack,  but  the 
ghostly  presence  appeared  and  disappeared  from 
the  Colorado  to  the  Yaqui.  No  one  can  tell  how 
Massai's  face  looks,  or  looked,  though  hundreds 
know  the  shape  of  his  footprint. 

The  Seventh  made  some  little  killings,  but  they 
fear  that  Massai  was  not  among  the  game.  There 
surely  is  or  was  such  a  person  as  Massai.  He 
developed  himself  slowly,  as  I  will  show  by  the 
Sherlock  Holmes  methods  of  the  chief  of  scouts, 
though  even  he  only  got  so  far,  after  all.  Massai 
manifested  himself  like  the  dust-storm  or  the 
morning  mist  —  a  shiver  in  the  air,  and  gone, 

79 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

The  chief  walked  his  horse  slowly  back  on  the 
lost  trail  in  disgust,  while  the  scouts  bobbed  along 
behind  perplexed.  It  was  always  so.  Time  has 
passed,  and  Massai,  indeed,  seems  gone,  since  he 
appears  no  more.  The  hope  in  the  breasts  of 
countless  men  is  nearly  blighted ;  they  no  longer 
expect  to  see  Massai's  head  brought  into  camp 
done  up  in  an  old  shirt  and  dropped  trium 
phantly  on  the  ground  in  front  of  the  chief  of 
scouts'  tent,  so  it  is  time  to  preserve  what  trail  we 
can. 

Three  troops  of  the  Tenth  had  gone  into  camp 
for  the  night,  and  the  ghostly  Montana  landscape 
hummed  with  the  murmur  of  many  men.  Supper 
was  over,  and  I  got  the  old  Apache  chief  of  scouts 
behind  his  own  ducking,  and  demanded  what  he 
knew  of  an  Apache  Indian  down  in  Arizona 
named  Massai.  He  knew  all  or  nearly  all  that 
any  white  man  will  ever  know. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  chief,  as  he  lit  a  cigar  and 
tipped  his  sombrero  over  his  left  eye,  "  but  let  me 
get  it  straight.  Massai's  trail  was  so  crooked,  I  had 
to  study  nights  to  keep  it  arranged  in  my  head. 
He  didn't  leave  much  more  trail  than  a  buzzard, 
anyhow,  and  it  took  years  to  unravel  it.  But  I 
am  anticipating. 

"  I  was  chief  of  scouts  at  Apache  in  the  fall 
of  '90,  when  word  was  brought  in  that  an  Indian 

80 


MASSAI'S   CROOKED  TRAIL 

girl  named  Natastale  had  disappeared,  and  that 
her  mother  was  found  under  a  walnut-tree  with 
a  bullet  through  her  body.  I  immediately  sent 
Indian  scouts  to  take  the  trail.  Thty  found  the 
tracks  of  a  mare  and  colt  going  by  the  spot,  and 
thinking  it  would  bring  them  to  the  girl,  they  fol 
lowed  it.  Shortly  they  found  a  moccasin  track 
where  a  man  had  dismounted  from  the  mare,  and 
without  paying  more  attention  to  the  horse  track, 
they  followed  it.  They  ran  down  one  of  my  own 
scouts  in  a  tiswin*  camp,  where  he  was  carousing 
with  other  drinkers.  They  sprang  on  him,  got 
him  by  the  hair,  disarmed  and  bound  him.  Then 
they  asked  him  what  he  had  done  with  the  girl, 
and  why  he  had  killed  the  mother,  to  which  he 
replied  that  '  he  did  not  know.'  When  he  was 
brought  to  me,  about  dark,  there  was  intense  ex 
citement  among  the  Indians,  who  crowded  around 
demanding  Indian  justice  on  the  head  of  the  mur 
derer  and  ravisher  of  the  women,  In  order  to 
save  his  life  I  took  him  from  the  Indians  and 
lodged  him  in  the  post  guard-house.  On  the  fol 
lowing  morning,  in  order  to  satisfy  myself  pos 
itively  that  this  man  had  committed  the  murder, 
I  sent  my  first  sergeant,  the  famous  Mickey  Free, 
with  a  picked  party  of  trailers,  back  to  the  walnut- 


*  An  intoxicating  beverage  made  of  corn. 
81 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

tree,  with  orders  to  go  carefully  over  the  trail  and 
run  down  the  mare  and  colt,  or  find  the  girl,  dead 
or  alive,  wherever  they  might. 

"  In  two  hours  word  was  sent  to  me  that  the 
trail  was  running  to  the  north.  They  had  found 
the  body  of  the  colt  with  its  throat  cut,  and  were 
following  the  mare.  The  trail  showed  that  a  man 
afoot  was  driving  the  mare,  and  the  scouts  thought 
the  girl  was  on  the  mare.  This  proved  that  we 
had  the  wrong  man  in  custody.  I  therefore 
turned  him  loose,  telling  him  he  was  all  right. 
In  return  he  told  me  that  he  owned  the  mare  and 
colt,  and  that  when  he  passed  the  tree  the  girl 
was  up  in  its  branches,  shaking  down  nuts  which 
her  old  mother  was  gathering.  He  had  ridden 
along,  and  about  an  hour  afterwards  had  heard  a 
shot.  He  turned  his  mare  loose;  and  proceeded 
on  foot  to  the  tiswin  camp,  where  he  heard  later 
that  the  old  woman  had  been  shot  and  the  girl 
*  lifted.'  When  arrested,  he  knew  that  the  other 
scouts  had  trailed  him  from  the  walnut-tree ;  he 
saw  the  circumstances  against  him,  and  was  afraid. 

"  On  the  night  of  the  second  day  Mickey  Free's 
party  returned,  having  run  the  trail  to  within  a 
few  hundred  yards  of  the  camp  of  Alcashay  in  the 
Forestdale  country,  between  whose  band  and  the 
band  to  which  the  girl  belonged  there  was  a  blood- 
feud.  They  concluded  that  the  murderer  belonged 

82 


MASSAI'S   CROOKED  TRAIL 

to  Alcashay's  camp,  and  were  afraid  to  engage 
him. 

"  I  sent  for  Alcashay  to  come  in  immediately, 
which  he  did,  and  I  demanded  that  he  trail  the 
man  and  deliver  him  up  to  me,  or  I  would  take 
my  scout  corps,  go  to  his  camp,  and  arrest  all  sus 
picious  characters.  He  stoutly  denied  that  the 
man  was  in  his  camp,  promised  to  do  as  I  direct 
ed,  and,  to  further  allay  any  suspicions,  he  asked 
for  my  picked  trailers  to  help  run  the  trail.  With 
this  body  of  men  he  proceeded  on  the  track,  and 
they  found  that  it  ran  right  around  his  camp,  then 
turned  sharply  to  the  east,  ran  within  two  hundred 
yards  of  a  stage  -  ranch,  thence  into  some  rough 
mountain  country,  where  it  twisted  and  turned  for 
forty  miles.  At  this  point  they  found  the  first 
camp  the  man  had  made.  He  had  tied  the  girl  to 
a  tree  by  the  feet,  which  permitted  her  to  sleep  on 
her  back ;  the  mare  had  been  killed,  some  steaks 
taken  out,  and  some  meat  *  jerked.'  From  thence 
on  they  could  find  no  trail  which  they  could  fol 
low.  At  long  intervals  they  found  his  moccasin 
mark  between  rocks,  but  after  circling  for  miles 
they  gave  it  up.  In  this  camp  they  found  and 
brought  to  me  a  fire-stick—the  first  and  only  one 
I  had  ever  seen — and  they  told  me  that  the  fire- 
stick  had  not  been  used  by  Apaches  for  many 
years.  There  were  only  a  few  old  men  in  my 

83 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

camp  who  were  familiar  with  its  use,  though  one 
managed  to  light  his  cigarette  with  it.  They  rea 
soned  from  this  that  the  man  was  a  bronco  Indian 
who  had  been  so  long  '  out '  that  he  could  not  pro 
cure  matches,  and  also  that  he  was  a  much  wilder 
one  than  any  of  the  Indians  then  known  to  be 
outlawed. 

"  In  about  a  week  there  was  another  Indian  girl 
stolen  from  one  of  my  hay-camps,  and  many  scouts 
thought  it  was  the  same  Indian,  who  they  decided 
was  one  of  the  well-known  outlaws ;  but  older  and 
better  men  did  not  agree  with  them ;  so  there  the 
matter  rested  for  some  months. 

"  In  the  spring  the  first  missing  girl  rode  into 
Fort  Apache  on  a  fine  horse,  which  was  loaded 
down  with  buckskins  and  other  Indian  finery. 
Two  cowboys  followed  her  shortly  and  claimed 
the  pony,  which  bore  a  C  C  C  brand,  and  I  gave 
it  up  to  them.  I  took  the  girl  into  my  office,  for 
she  was  so  tired  that  she  could  hardly  stand  up, 
while  she  was  haggard  and  worn  to  the  last  degree. 
When  she  had  sufficiently  recovered  she  told  me 
her  story.  She  said  she  was  up  in  the  walnut-tree 
when  an  Indian  shot  her  mother,  and  coming  up, 
forced  her  to  go  with  him.  He  trailed  and  picked 
up  the  mare,  bound  her  on  its  back,  and  drove  it 
along.  The  colt  whinnied,  whereupon  he  cut  its 
throat.  He  made  straight  for  Alcashay's  camp, 

84 


MASSAI'S   CROOKED   TRAIL 

which  he  circled,  and  then  turned  sharply  to  the 
east,  where  he  made  the  big  twisting  through  the 
mountains  which  my  scouts  found.  After  going 
all  night  and  the  next  day,  he  made  the  first  camp. 
After  killing  and  cooking  the  mare,  he  gave  her 
something  to  eat,  tied  her  up  by  the  feet,  and 
standing  over  her,  told  her  that  he  was  getting  to 
be  an  old  man,  was  tired  of  making  his  own  fires, 
and  wanted  a  woman.  If  she  was  a  good  girl  he 
would  not  kill  her,  but  would  treat  her  well  and 
always  have  venison  hanging  up.  He  continued 
that  he  was  going  away  for  a  few  hours,  and  would 
come  back  and  kill  her  if  she  tried  to  undo  the 
cords;  but  she  fell  asleep  while  he  was  talking. 
After  daylight  he  returned,  untied  her,  made  her 
climb  on  his  back,  and  thus  carried  her  for  a  long 
distance.  Occasionally  he  made  her  alight  where 
the  ground  was  hard,  telling  her  if  she  made  any 
*  sign '  he  would  kill  her,  which  made  her  careful 
of  her  steps. 

"  After  some  miles  of  this  blinding  of  the  trail 
they  came  upon  a  white  horse  that  was  tied  to  a 
tree.  They  mounted  double,  and  rode  all  day  as 
fast  as  he  could  lash  the  pony,  until,  near  night 
fall,  it  fell  from  exhaustion,  whereupon  he  killed  it 
and  cooked  some  of  the  carcass.  The  bronco  Ind 
ian  took  himself  off  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and 
when  he  returned,  brought  another  horse,  which 

85 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

they  mounted,  and  sped  onward  through  the 
moonlight  all  night  long.  On  that  morning  they 
were  in  the  high  mountains,  the  poor  pony  suffer 
ing  the  same  fate  as  the  others. 

"  They  stayed  here  two  days,  he  tying  her  up 
whenever  he  went  hunting,  she  being  so  exhaust 
ed  after  the  long  flight  that  she  lay  comatose  in 
her  bonds.  From  thence  they  journeyed  south 
slowly,  keeping  to  the  high  mountains,  and  only 
once  did  he  speak,  when  he  told  her  that  a  certain 
mountain  pass  was  the  home  of  the  Chiricahuas. 
From  the  girl's  account  she  must  have  gone  far 
south  into  the  Sierra  Madre  of  Old  Mexico, 
though  of  course  she  was  long  since  lost. 

"  He  killed  game  easily,  she  tanned  the  hides, 
and  they  lived  as  man  and  wife.  Day  by  day 
they  threaded  their  way  through  the  deep  can 
ons  and  over  the  Blue  Mountain  ranges.  By 
this  time  he  had  become  fond  of  the  White 
Mountain  girl,  and  told  her  that  he  was  Massai, 
a  Chiricahua  warrior ;  that  he  had  been  arrested 
after  the  Geronimo  war  and  sent  East  on  the 
railroad  over  two  years  since,  but  had  escaped 
one  night  from  the  train,  and  had  made  his  way 
alone  back  to  his  native  deserts.  Since  then  it  is 
known  that  an  Indian  did  turn  up  missing,  but 
it  was  a  big  band  of  prisoners,  and  some  births 
had  occurred,  which  made  the  checking  off  come 

86 


SCOUTS 


MASSAI'S   CROOKED   TRAIL 

straight.  He  was  not  missed  at  the  time.  From 
what  the  girl  said,  he  must  have  got  off  east  of 
Kansas  City  and  travelled  south  and  then  west, 
till  at  last  he  came  to  the  lands  of  the  Mescalero 
Apaches,  where  he  stayed  for  some  time.  He  was 
over  a  year  making  this  journey,  and  told  the  girl 
that  no  human  eye  ever  saw  him  once  in  that 
time.  This  is  all  he  ever  told  the  girl  Natastale, 
and  she  was  afraid  to  ask  him  more.  Beyond 
these  mere  facts,  it  is  still  a  midnight  prowl  of 
a  human  coyote  through  a  settled  country  for 
twelve  hundred  miles,  the  hardihood  of  the  un 
dertaking  being  equalled  only  by  the  instinct 
which  took  him  home. 

"  Once  only  while  the  girl  was  with  him  did 
they  see  sign  of  other  Indians,  and  straightway 
Massai  turned  away  —  his  wild  nature  shunning 
even  the  society  of  his  kind. 

"  At  times  '  his  heart  was  bad/  and  once  he  sat 
brooding  for  a  whole  day,  finally  telling  her  that 
he  was  going  into  a  bad  country  to  kill  Mexicans, 
that  women  were  a  burden  on  a  warrior,  and  that 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  kill  her.  All  through 
her  narrative  he  seemed  at  times  to  be  overcome 
with  this  blood-thirst,  which  took  the  form  of  a 
homicidal  melancholia.  She  begged  so  hard  for 
her  life  that  he  relented  ;  so  he  left  her  in  the  wild 
tangle  of  mountains  while  he  raided  on  the  Mexi- 

87 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

can  settlements.  He  came  back  with  horses  and 
powder  and  lead.  This  last  was  in  Winchester 
bullets,  which  he  melted  up  and  recast  into  .50 
calibre  balls  made  in  moulds  of  cactus  sticks.  He 
did  not  tell  how  many  murders  he  had  committed 
during  these  raids,  but  doubtless  many. 

"  They  lived  that  winter  through  in  the  Sierras, 
and  in  the  spring  started  north,  crossing  the  rail 
road  twice,  which  meant  the  Guaymas  and  the 
Southern  Pacific.  They  sat  all  one  day  on  a 
high  mountain  and  watched  the  trains  of  cars  go 
by;  but  *  his  heart  got  bad'  at  the  sight  of  them, 
and  again  he  concluded  to  kill  the  girl.  Again 
she  begged  off,  and  they  continued  up  the  range 
of  the  Mogollons.  He  was  unhappy  in  his  mind 
during  all  this  journey,  saying  men  were  scarce 
up  here,  that  he  must  go  back  to  Mexico  and  kill 
some  one. 

"  He  was  tired  of  the  woman,  and  did  not  want 
her  to  go  back  with  him,  so,  after  sitting  all  day 
on  a  rock  while  she  besought  him,  the  old  wolf 
told  her  to  go  home  in  peace.  But  the  girl  was 
lost,  and  told  him  that  either  the  Mexicans  or 
Americans  would  kill  her  if  she  departed  from 
him;  so  his  mood  softened,  and  telling  her  to 
come  on,  he  began  the  homeward  journey.  They 
passed  through  a  small  American  town  in  the 
middle  of  the  night — he  having  previously  taken 

88 


MASSAI'S   CROOKED   TRAIL 

off  the  Indian  rawhide  shoes  from  the  ponies. 
They  crossed  the  Gila  near  the  Nau  Taw  Moun 
tains.  Here  he  stole  two  fresh  horses,  and  load 
ing  one  with  all  the  buckskins,  he  put  her  on  and 
headed  her  down  the  Eagle  Trail  to  Black  River. 
She  now  knew  where  she  was,  but  was  nearly 
dying  from  the  exhaustion  of  his  fly-by-night  ex 
peditions.  He  halted  her,  told  her  to  'tell  the 
white  officer  that  she  was  a  pretty  good  girl,  bet 
ter  than  the  San  Carlos  woman,  and  that  he 
would  come  again  and  get  another.'  He  struck 
her  horse  and  was  gone. 

"  Massai  then  became  a  problem  to  successive 
chiefs  of  scouts,  a  bugbear  to  the  reservation  Ind 
ians,  and  a  terror  to  Arizona.  If  a  man  was  killed 
or  a  woman  missed,  the  Indians  came  galloping 
and  the  scouts  lay  on  his  trail.  If  he  met  a  wom 
an  in  the  defiles,  he  stretched  her  dead  if  she  did 
not  please  his  errant  fancy.  He  took  pot-shots 
at  the  men  ploughing  in  their  little  fields,  and 
knocked  the  Mexican  bull-drivers  on  the  head  as 
they  plodded  through  the  blinding  dust  of  the 
Globe  Road.  He  even  sat  like  a  vulture  on  the 
rim-rock  and  signalled  the  Indians  to  come  out 
and  talk.  When  two  Indians  thus  accosted  did 
go  out,  they  found  themselves  looking  down  Mas- 
sai's  .socalibre,  and  were  tempted  to  do  his  bid 
ding.  He  sent  one  in  for  sugar  and  coffee,  hold- 

89 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

ing  the  brother,  for  such  he  happened  to  be,  as  a 
hostage  till  the  sugar  and  coffee  came.  Then  he 
told  them  that  he  was  going  behind  a  rock  to  lie 
down,  cautioning  them  not  to  move  for  an  hour. 
That  was  an  unnecessary  bluff,  for  they  did  not 
wink  an  eye  till  sundown.  Later  than  this  he 
stole  a  girl  in  broad  daylight  in  the  face  of  a  San 
Carlos  camp  and  dragged  her  up  the  rocks.  Here 
he  was  attacked  by  fifteen  or  twenty  bucks,  whom 
he  stood  off  until  darkness.  When  they  reached 
his  lair  in  the  morning,  there  lay  the  dead  girl, 
but  Massai  was  gone. 

"  I  never  saw  Massai  but  once,  and  then  it  was 
only  a  piece  of  his  G  string  flickering  in  the  brush. 
We  had  followed  his  trail  half  the  night,  and  just 
at  daylight,  as  we  ascended  a  steep  part  of  the 
mountains,  I  caught  sight  of  a  pony's  head  look 
ing  over  a  bush.  We  advanced  rapidly,  only  to 
find  the  horse  grunting  from  a  stab  wound  in  the 
belly,  and  the  little  camp  scattered  around  about 
him.  The  shirt  tail  flickering  in  the  brush  was 
all  of  Massai.  We  followed  on,  but  he  had  gone 
down  a  steep  bluff.  We  went  down  too,  thus  ex 
posing  ourselves  to  draw  his  fire  so  that  we  could 
locate  him,  but  he  was  not  tempted. 

"  The  late  Lieutenant  Clark  had  much  the  same 
view  of  this  mountain  outlaw,  and  since  those  days 
two  young  men  of  the  Seventh  Cavalry,  Rice  and 

9o 


MASSAI'S   CROOKED   TRAIL 

Averill,  have  on  separate  occasions  crawled  on  his 
camp  at  the  break  of  day,  only  to  see  Massai  go 
out  of  sight  in  the  brush  like  a  blue  quail. 

"  Lieutenant  Averill,  after  a  forced  march  of 
eighty -six  miles,  reached  a  hostile  camp  near 
morning,  after  climbing  his  detachment,  since 
midnight,  up  the  almost  inaccessible  rocks,  in 
hopes  of  surprising  the  camp.  He  divided  his 
force  into  three  parts,  and  tried,  as  well  as  pos 
sible,  to  close  every  avenue  of  escape ;  but  as  the 
camp  was  on  a  high  rocky  hill  at  the  junction  of 
four  deep  canons,  this  was  found  impracticable. 
At  daylight  the  savages  came  out  together,  run 
ning  like  deer,  and  making  for  the  canons.  The 
soldiers  fired,  killing  a  buck  and  accidentally 
wounding  a  squaw,  but  Massai  simply  disappeared. 

"  That's  the  story  of  Massai.  It  is  not  as  long 
as  his  trail,"  said  the  chief  of  scouts. 


JOSHUA  GOODENOUGH'S  OLD 
LETTER 


THE  following  letter  has  come  into  my  posses 
sion,  which  I  publish  because  it  is  history,  and 
descends  to  the  list  of  those  humble  beings  who 
builded  so  well  for  us  the  institutions  which  we 
now  enjoy  in  this  country.  It  is  yellow  with  age, 
and  much  frayed  out  at  the  foldings,  being  in  those 
spots  no  longer  discernible.  It  runs : 

ALBANY  June  1 798. 

To  MY  DEAR  SON  JOSEPH. — It  is  true  that  there 
are  points  in  the  history  of  the  country  in  which 
your  father  had  a  concern  in  his  early  life,  and  as 
you  ask  me  to  put  it  down  I  will  do  so  briefly. 
Not,  however,  my  dear  Joseph,  as  I  was  used  to 
tell  it  to  you  when  you  were  a  lad,  but  with  more 
exact  truth,  for  I  am  getting  on  in  my  years  and 
this  will  soon  be  all  that  my  posterity  will  have  of 
their  ancestor.  I  conceive  that  now  the  descend- 

92 


JOSHUA  GOODENOUGH'S    OLD   LETTER 

ents  of  the  noble  band  of  heroes  who  fought  off 
the  Indians,  the  Frenche  and  the  British  will  prevail 
in  this  country,  and  my  children's  children  may 
want  to  add  what  is  found  here  in  written  to  their 
own  achievements. 

To  begin  with,  my  father  was  the  master  of  a 
fishing-schooner,  of  Marblehead.  In  the  year  1 745 
he  was  taken  at  sea  by  a  French  man-of-war  off 
Louisbourg,  after  making  a  desperate  resistence. 
His  ship  was  in  a  sinking  condition  and  the  blood 
was  mid-leg  deep  on  her  deck.  Your  grandfather 
was  an  upstanding  man  and  did  not  prostrate 
easily,  but  the  Frencher  was  too  big,  so  he  was 
captured  and  later  found  his  way  as  a  prisoner  to 
Quebec.  He  was  exchanged  by  a  mistake  in  his 
identity  for  Huron  indians  captivated  in  York,  and 
he  subsequently  settled  near  Albany,  afterwards 
bringing  my  mother,  two  sisters,  and  myself  from 
Marblehead. 

He  engaged  in  the  indian  trade,  and  as  I  was 
a  rugged  lad  of  my  years  I  did  often  accompany 
him  on  his  expeditions  westward  into  the  Mohawk 
townes,  thus  living  in  bark  camps  among  Indians 
and  got  thereby  a  knowledge  of  their  ways.  I 
made  shift  also  to  learn  their  language,  and  what 
with  living  in  the  bush  for  so  many  years  I  was  a 
hand  at  a  pack  or  paddle  and  no  mean  hunter 
besides.  I  was  put  to  school  for  two  seasons  in 

93 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

Albany  which  was  not  to  my  liking,  so  I  straight 
way  ran  off  to  a  hunters  camp  up  the  Hudson, 
and  only  came  back  when  my  father  would  say 
that  I  should  not  be  again  put  with  the  pedegogue. 
For  this  adventure  I  had  a  good  strapping  from 
my  father,  and  was  set  to  work  in  his  trade  again. 
My  mother  was  a  pious  woman  and  did  not  like 
me  to  grow  up  in  the  wilderness — for  it  was  the 
silly  fashion  of  those  times  to  ape  the  manners  and 
dress  of  the  Indians. 

My  father  was  a  shifty  trader  and  very  ventur- 
some.  He  often  had  trouble  with  the  people  in 
these  parts,  who  were  Dutch  and  were  jealous  of 
him.  He  had  a  violent  temper  and  was  not  easily 
bent  from  his  purpose  by  opporsition.  His  men 
had  a  deal  of  fear  of  him  and  good  cause  enough 
in  the  bargain,  for  I  once  saw  him  discipline  a 
half-negro  man  who  was  one  of  his  boat-men  for 
stealing  his  private  jug  of  liquor  from  his  private 
pack.  He  clinched  with  the  negro  and  soon  had 
him  on  the  ground,  where  the  man  struggled  man 
fully  but  to  no  purpose,  for  your  grandfather  soon 
had  him  at  his  mercy.  "  Now,"  said  he,  "  give  me 
the  jug  or  take  the  consequences."  The  other 
boat  paddlers  wanted  to  rescue  him,  but  I  menaced 
them  with  my  fusil  and  the  matter  ended  by  the 
return  of  the  jug. 

In  1753  he  met  his  end  at  the  hands  of  western 

94 


JOSHUA   GOODENOUGH'S   OLD    LETTER 

indians  in  the  French  interest,  who  shot  him  as  he 
was  helping  to  carry  a  battoe,  and  he  was  hurried 
in  the  wilderness.  My  mother  then  returned  to 
her  home  in  Massassachusetts,  journeying  with  a 
party  of  traders  but  I  staid  with  the  Dutch  on 
these  frontiers  because  I  had  learned  the  indian 
trade  and  liked  the  country.  Not  having  any 
chances,  I  had  little  book  learning  in  my  youth, 
having  to  this  day  a  regret  concerning  it.  I  read 
a  few  books,  but  fear  I  had  a  narrow  knowledge 
of  things  outside  the  Dutch  settlements.  On  the 
frontiers,  for  that  matter,  few  people  had  much 
skill  with  the  pen,  nor  was  much  needed.  The 
axe  and  rifle,  the  paddle  and  pack  being  more  to 
our  hands  in  those  rough  days.  To  prosper 
though,  men  weare  shrewd-headed  enough.  I 
have  never  seen  that  books  helped  people  to  trade 
sharper.  Shortly  afterwards  our  trade  fell  away, 
for  the  French  had  embroiled  the  Indians  against 
us.  Crown  Point  was  the  Place  from  which  the 
Indians  in  their  interest  had  been  fitted  out  to  go 
against  our  settlements,  so  a  design  was  formed  by 
His  Majesty  the  British  King  to  dispossess  them 
of  that  place.  Troops  were  levid  in  the  Province 
and  the  war  began.  The  Frenchers  had  the  best 
of  the  fighting. 

Our  frontiers  were  beset  with  the  Canada  indians 
so  that  it  was  not  safe  to  go  about  in  the  country 

95 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

at  all.  I  was  working  for  Peter  Vrooman,  a  trader, 
and  was  living  at  his  house  on  the  Mohawk.  One 
Sunday  morning  I  found  a  negro  boy  who  was 
shot  through  the  body  with  two  balls  as  he  was 
hunting  for  stray  sheep,  and  all  this  within  half  a 
mile  of  Vrooman's  house.  Then  an  express  came 
up  the  valley  who  left  word  that  the  Province  was 
levying  troops  at  Albany  to  fight  the  French,  and 
I  took  my  pay  from  Vrooman  saying  that  I  would 
go  to  Albany  for  a  soldier.  Another  young  man 
and  myself  paddled  down  to  Albany,  and  we  both 
enlisted  in  the  York  levies.  We  drawed  our 
ammunition,  tents,  kettles,  bowls  and  knives  at  the 
Albany  flats,  and  were  drilled  by  an  officer  who 
had  been  in  her  Majesty's  Service.  One  man  was 
given  five  hundred  lashes  for  enlisting  in  some 
Connecticut  troops,  and  the  orders  said  that  any 
man  who  should  leave  His  Majesty's  service  with 
out  a  Regular  discharge  should  suffer  Death. 
The  restraint  which  was  put  upon  me  by  this 
military  life  was  not  to  my  liking,  and  I  was  in  a 
mortal  dread  of  the  whippings  which  men  were 
constantly  receiving  for  breaches  of  the  discipline. 
I  felt  that  I  could  not  survive  the  shame  of  being 
trussed  up  and  lashed  before  men's  eyes,  but  I  did 
also  have  a  great  mind  to  fight  the  French  which 
kept  me  along.  One  day  came  an  order  to  prepare 
a  list  of  officers  and  men  who  were  willing  to  go 

96 


JOSHUA   GOODENOUGH'S   OLD    LETTER 

scouting  and  be  freed  from  other  duty,  and  after 
some  time  I  got  my  name  put  down,  for  I  was 
thought  too  young,  but  I  said  I  knew  the  woods, 
had  often  been  to  Andiatirocte  (or  Lake  George 
as  it  had  then  become  the  fashion  to  call  it)  and 
they  let  me  go.  It  was  dangerous  work,  for  reports 
came  every  day  of  how  our  Rangers  suffered  up 
country  at  the  hands  of  the  cruel  savages  from 
Canada,  but  it  is  impossible  to  play  at  bowls  with 
out  meeting  some  rubs.  A  party  of  us  proceed 
ed  up  river  to  join  Captain  Rogers  at  Fort  Ed 
ward,  and  we  were  put  to  camp  on  an  Island.  This 
was  in  October  of  the  year  1757.  We  found 
the  Rangers  were  rough  borderers  like  ourselvs, 
mostly  Hampshire  men  well  used  to  the  woods 
and  much  accustomed  to  the  Enemy.  They 
dressed  in  the  fashion  of  those  times  in  skin  and 
grey  duffle  hunting  frocks,  and  were  well  armed. 
Rogers  himself  was  a  doughty  man  and  had  a 
reputation  as  a  bold  Ranger  leader.  The  men 
declaired  that  following  him  was  sore  service,  but 
that  he  most  always  met  with  great  success.  The 
Fort  was  garrissoned  by  His  Majesty's  soldiers, 
and  I  did  not  conceive  that  they  were  much  fitted 
for  bush-ranging,  which  I  afterwards  found  to  be 
the  case,  but  they  would  always  fight  well  enough, 
though  often  to  no  good  purpose,  which  was  not 
their  fault  so  much  as  the  headstrong  leadership 
G  97 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

which  persisted  in  making  them  come  to  close 
quarters  while  at  a  disadvantage.  There  were 
great  numbers  of  pack  horses  coming  and  going 
with  stores,  and  many  officers  in  gold  lace  and  red 
coats  were  riding  about  directing  here  and  there. 
I  can  remember  that  I  had  a  great  interest  in  this 
concourse  of  men,  for  up  to  that  time  I  had  not 
seen  much  of  the  world  outside  of  the  wilderness. 
There  was  terror  of  the  Canada  indians  who  had 
come  down  to  our  borders  hunting  for  scalps — for 
these  were  continually  lurking  near  the  cantane- 
ments  to  waylay  the  unwary.  I  had  got  acquainted 
with  a  Hampshire  borderer  who  had  passed  his 
life  on  the  Canada  frontier,  where  he  had  fought 
indians  and  been  captured  by  them.  I  had  seen 
much  of  indians  and  knew  their  silent  forest  habits 
when  hunting,  so  that  I  felt  that  when  they  were 
after  human  beings  they  would  be  no  mean  adver 
saries,  but  I  had  never  hunted  them  or  they  me. 

I  talked  at  great  length  with  this  Shankland,  or 
Shanks  as  he  was  called  on  account  of  his  name 
and  his  long  legs,  in  course  of  which  he  explained 
many  useful  points  to  me  concerning  Ranger  ways. 
He  said  they  always  marched  until  it  was  quite 
dark  before  encamping — that  they  always  returned 
by  a  different  route  from  that  on  which  they  went 
out,  and  that  they  circled  on  their  trail  at  intervals 
so  that  they  might  intercept  any  one  coming  on 

98 


JOSHUA   GOODENOUGH'S    OLD   LETTER 

their  rear.  He  told  me  not  to  gather  up  close  to 
other  Rangers  in  a  fight  but  to  keep  spread  out, 
which  gave  the  Enemy  less  mark  to  fire  upon  and 
also  deceived  them  as  to  your  own  numbers. 
Then  also  he  cautioned  me  not  to  fire  on  the 
Enemy  when  we  were  in  ambush  till  they  have 
approached  quite  near,  which  will  put  them  in 
greater  surprise  and  give  your  own  people  time  to 
rush  in  on  them  with  hatchets  or  cutlasses.  Shanks 
and  I  had  finally  a  great  fancy  for  each  other  and 
passed  most  of  our  time  in  company.  He  was  a 
slow  man  in  his  movements  albeit  he  could  move 
fast  enough  on  occassion,  and  was  a  great  hand  to 
take  note  of  things  happening  around  him.  No 
indian  was  better  able  to  discern  a  trail  in  the 
bush  than  he,  nor  could  one  be  found  his  equal  at 
making  snow  shoes,  carving  a  powder  horn  or 
fashioning  any  knick-nack  he  was  a  mind  to  set 
his  hand  to. 

The  Rangers  were  accustomed  to  scout  in  small 
parties  to  keep  the  Canada  indians  from  coming 
close  to  Fort  Edward.  I  had  been  out  with 
Shanks  on  minor  occasions,  but  I  must  relate  my 
first  adventure. 

A  party  . .  .  (here  the  writing  is  lost)  .  .  .  was 
desirous  of  taking  a  captive  or  scalp.  I  misdoubt 
ed  our  going  alone  by  ourselvs,  but  he  said  we 
were  as  safe  as  with  more.  We  went  northwest 

99 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

slowly  for  two  days,  and  though  we  saw  many  old 
trails  we  found  none  which  were  fresh.  We  had 
gone  on  until  night  when  we  lay  bye  near  a  small 
brook.  I  was  awakened  by  Shanks  in  the  night 
and  heard  a  great  howling  of  wolves  at  some  dis 
tance  off  togther  with  a  gun  shot.  We  lay 
awake  until  daybreak  and  at  intervals  heard  a 
gun  fired  all  though  the  night.  We  decided 
that  the  firing  could  not  come  from  a  large  party 
and  so  began  to  approach  the  sound  slowly  and 
with  the  greatest  caution.  We  could  not  under 
stand  why  the  wolves  should  be  so  bold  with  the 
gun  firing,  but  as  we  came  neare  we  smelled 
smoke  and  knew  it  was  a  camp-fire.  There  were 
a  number  of  wolves  running  about  in  the  under 
brush  from  whose  actions  we  located  the  camp. 
From  a  rise  we  could  presently  see  it,  and  were 
surprised  to  find  it  contained  five  Indians  all 
lying  asleep  in  their  blankets.  The  wolves  would 
go  right  up  to  the  camp  and  yet  the  indians  did  not 
deign  to  give  them  any  notice  whatsoever,  or  even 
to  move  in  the  least  when  one  wolf  pulled  at  the 
blanket  of  a  sleeper.  We  each  selected  a  man 
when  we  had  come  near  enough,  and  preparing 
to  deliver  our  fire,  when  of  a  sudden  one  figure 
rose  up  slightly.  We  nevertheless  fired  and  then 
rushed  forward,  reloading.  To  our  astonishment 
none  of  the  figures  moved  in  the  least  but  the 


IOO 


JOSHUA  GOODENOUGH'S   OLD   LETTER, 

wolves  scurried  off.  We  were  advancing  cau 
tiously  when  Shanks  caught  me  by  the  arm  say 
ing  "  we  must  run,  that  they  had  all  died  of  the 
small-pox,"  and  run  we  did  lustilly  for  a  good  long 
distance.  After  this  manner  did  many  Indians 
die  in  the  wilderness  from  that  dreadful  disease, 
and  I  have  since  supposed  that  the  last  living 
Indian  had  kept  firing  his  gun  at  the  wolves  until 
he  had  no  longer  strength  to  reload  his  piece. 

After  this  Shanks  and  I  had  become  great 
friends  for  he  had  liked  the  way  I  had  conduct 
ed  myself  on  this  expedition.  He  was  always  ar- 
guying  with  me  to  cut  off  my  eel-skin  que  which 
I  wore  after  the  fashion  of  the  Dutch  folks,  saying 
that  the  Canada  indians  would  parade  me  for  a 
Dutchman  after  that  token  was  gone  with  my 
scalp.  He  had  ....  (writing  obliterated). 

Early  that  winter  I  was  one  of  150  Rangers 
who  marched  with  Captain  Rogers  against  the 
Enemy  at  Carrillion.  The  snow  was  not  deep 
at  starting  but  it  continued  to  snow  until  it  was 
heavy  footing  and  many  of  the  men  gave  out  and 
returned  to  Fort  Edward,  but  notwithstanding  my 
exhaustion  I  continued  on  for  six  days  until  we 
were  come  to  within  six  hundred  yards  of  Car 
rillion  Fort.  The  captain  had  made  us  a  speech 
in  which  he  told  us  the  points  where  we  were  to 
rendevoux  if  we  were  broke  in  the  fight,  for 


IOI 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

further  resistance  until  night  came  on,  when  we 
could  take  ourselvs  off  as  best  we  might.  I  was 
with  the  advance  guard.  We  lay  in  ambush  in 
some  fallen  timber  quite  close  to  a  road,  from 
which  we  could  see  the  smoke  from  the  chimneys 
of  the  Fort  and  the  centries  walking  their  beats. 
A  French  soldier  was  seen  to  come  from  the  Fort 
and  the  word  was  passed  to  let  him  go  bye  us,  as 
he  came  down  the  road.  We  lay  perfectly  still 
not  daring  to  breathe,  and  though  he  saw  noth 
ing  he  stopped  once  and  seemed  undecided  as  to 
going  on,  but  suspecting  nothing  he  continued 
and  was  captured  by  our  people  below,  for  pris 
oners  were  wanted  at  Headquarters  to  give  infor 
mation  of  the  French  forces  and  intentions.  A 
man  taken  in  this  way  was  threatened  with  Death 
if  he  did  not  tell  the  whole  truth,  which  under  the 
circumstancs  he  mostly  did  to  save  his  life. 

The  French  did  not  come  out  of  the  Fort  after 
us,  though  Rogers  tried  to  entice  them  by  firing 
guns  and  showing  small  parties  of  men  which 
feigned  to  retreat.  We  were  ordered  to  destroy 
what  we  could  of  the  supplies,  so  Shanks  and  I 
killed  a  small  cow  which  we  found  in  the  edge  of 
the  clearing  and  took  off  some  fresh  beef  of  which 
food  we  were  sadly  in  need,  for  on  these  scouts 
the  Rangers  were  not  permitted  to  fire  guns  at 
game  though  it  was  found  in  thir  path,  as  it  often 

102 


JOSHUA  GOODENOUGH'S    OLD  LETTER 

was  in  fact.  I  can  remember  on  one  occassion 
that  I  stood  by  a  tree  in  a  snow  storm,  with  my 
gun  depressed  under  my  frock  the  better  to  keep 
it  dry,  when  I  was  minded  to  glance  quickly 
around  and  there  saw  a  large  wolf  just  ready  to 
spring  upon  me.  I  cautiously  presented  my  fusee 
but  did  not  dare  to  fire  against  the  orders.  An 
other  Ranger  came  shortly  into  view  and  the  wolf 
took  himself  off.  We  burned  some  large  wood 
piles,  which  no  doubt  made  winter  work  for  to 
keep  some  Frenchers  at  home.  They  only  fired 
some  cannon  at  us,  which  beyond  a  great  deal  of 
noise  did  no  harm.  We  then  marched  back  to 
Fort  Edward  and  were  glad  enough  to  get  there, 
since  it  was  time  for  snow-shoes,  which  we  had 
not  with  us. 

The  Canada  indians  were  coming  down  to  our 
Forts  and  even  behind  them  to  intercept  our  con 
voys  or  any  parties  out  on  the  road,  so  that  the 
Rangers  were  kept  out,  to  head  them  when  they 
could,  or  get  knowledge  of  their  whereabouts. 
Shanks  and  I  went  out  with  two  Mohegon  ind 
ians  on  a  scout.  It  was  exceedingly  stormy 
weather  and  very  heavy  travelling  except  on  the 
River.  I  had  got  a  bearskin  blanket  from  the 
indians  which  is  necessary  to  keep  out  the  cold 
at  this  season.  We  had  ten  days  of  bread,  pork 
and  rum  with  a  little  salt  with  us,  and  followed 

103 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

the  Indians  in  a  direction  North-and-bye-East  tow 
ards  the  lower  end  of  Lake  Champlain,  always 
keeping  to  the  high-ground  with  the  falling  snow 
to  fill  our  tracks  behind  us.  For  four  days  we 
travelled  when  we  were  well  up  the  west  side. 
We  had  crossed  numbers  of  trails  but  they  were 
all  full  of  old  snow  and  not  worth  regarding — still 
we  were  so  far  from  our  post  that  in  event  of  en 
countering  any  numbers  of  the  Enemy  we  had 
but  small  hope  of  a  safe  return  and  had  therefore 
to  observe  the  greatest  caution. 

As  we  were  making  our  way  an  immense  pain 
ter  so  menaced  us  that  we  were  forced  to  fire  our 
guns  to  dispatch  him.  He  was  found  to  be  very 
old,  his  teeth  almost  gone,  and  was  in  the  last 
stages  of  starvation.  We  were  much  alarmed  at 
this  misadventure,  fearing  the  Enemy  might  hear 
us  or  see  the  ravens  gathering  above,  so  we 
crossed  the  Lake  that  night  on  some  new  ice  to 
blind  our  trail,  where  I  broke  through  in  one 
place  and  was  only  saved  by  Shanks,  who  got 
hold  of  my  eel  -  skin  que,  thereby  having  some 
thing  to  pull  me  out  with.  We  got  into  a  deep 
gully,  and  striking  flint  made  a  fire  to  dry  me  and 
I  did  not  suffer  much  inconvenience. 

The  day  following  we  took  a  long  circle  and 
came  out  on  the  lower  end  of  the  Lake,  there  lay 
ing  two  days  in  ambush,  watching  the  Lake  for 

104 


JOSHUA   GOODENOUGH'S   OLD   LETTER 

any  parties  coming  or  going.  Before  dark  a  Mo- 
higon  came  in  from  watch  saying  that  men  were 
coming  down  the  Lake.  We  gathered  at  the 
point  and  saw  seven  of  the  Enemy  come  slowly 
on.  There  were  three  indians  two  Canadians 
and  a  French  officer.  Seeing  they  would  shortly 
pass  under  our  point  of  land  we  made  ready  to 
fire,  and  did  deliver  one  fire  as  they  came  nigh, 
but  the  guns  of  our  Mohigons  failed  to  explode, 
they  being  old  and  well  nigh  useless,  so  that  all 
the  damage  we  did  was  to  kill  one  indian  and 
wound  a  Canadian,  who  was  taken  in  hand  by 
his  companions  who  made  off  down  the  shore 
and  went  into  the  bush.  We  tried  to  head  them 
unsuccessfully,  and  after  examining  the  guns  of 
our  indians  we  feared  they  were  so  disabled  that 
we  gave  up  and  retreated  down  the  Lake,  travel 
ling  all  night.  Near  morning  we  saw  a  small  fire 
which  we  spied  out  only  to  find  a  large  party  of 
the  Enemy,  whereat  we  were  much  disturbed,  for 
our  travelling  had  exhausted  us  and  we  feared  the 
pursuit  of  a  fresh  enemy  as  soon  as  morning 
should  come  to  show  them  our  trail.  We  then 
made  our  way  as  fast  as  possible  until  late  that 
night,  when  we  laid  down  for  refreshment.  We 
built  no  fire  but  could  not  sleep  for  fear  of  the 
Enemy  for  it  was  a  bright  moonlight,  and  sure 
enough  we  had  been  there  but  a  couple  of  hours 

105 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

when  we  saw  the  Enemy  coming  on  our  track. 
We  here  abandoned  our  bear  -  skins  with  what 
provissions  we  had  left  and  ran  back  on  our  trail 
toward  the  advancing  party.  It  was  dark  in  the 
forest  and  we  hoped  they  might  not  discover  our 
back  track  for  some  time,  thus  giving  us  a  longer 
start.  This  ruse  was  successful.  After  some 
hours  travel  I  became  so  exhausted  that  I  stopped 
to  rest,  whereat  the  Mohigans  left  us,  but  Shanks 
bided  with  me,  though  urging  me  to  move  for 
ward.  After  a  time  I  got  strength  to  move  on. 
Shanks  said  the  Canadians  would  come  up  with 
us  if  we  did  not  make  fast  going  of  it,  and  that 
they  would  disembowel  us  or  tie  us  to  a  tree  and 
burn  us  as  was  their  usual  way,  for  we  could  in  no 
wise  hope  to  make  head  against  so  large  a  party. 
Thus  we  walked  steadily  till  high  noon,  when  my 
wretched  strength  gave  out  so  that  I  fell  down 
saying  I  had  as  leave  die  there  as  elsewhere. 
Shanks  followed  back  on  our  trail,  while  I  fell 
into  a  drouse  but  was  so  sore  I  could  not  sleep. 
After  a  time  I  heard  a  shot,  and  shortly  two  more, 
when  Shanks  came  running  back  to  me.  He  had 
killed  an  advancing  indian  and  stopped  them  for 
a  moment.  He  kicked  me  vigorously,  telling  me 
to  come  on,  as  the  Indians  would  soon  come  on 
again.  I  got  up,  and  though  I  could  scarcely 
move  I  was  minded  diligently  to  persevere  after 

1 06 


JOSHUA  GOODENOUGH'S   OLD   LETTER 

Shanks.  Thus  we  staggered  on  until  near  night 
time,  when  we  again  stopped  and  I  fell  into  a  deep 
sleep,  but  the  enemy  did  not  again  come  up.  On 
the  following  day  we  got  into  Fort  Edward,  where 
I  was  taken  with  a  distemper,  was  seized  with  very 
grevious  pains  in  the  head  and  back  and  a  fever. 
They  let  blood  and  gave  me  a  physic,  but  I  did 
not  get  well  around  for  some  time.  For  this  sick 
ness  I  have  always  been  thankful,  otherwise  I 
should  have  been  with  Major  Rogers  in  his  un 
fortunate  battle,  which  has  become  notable  enough, 
where  he  was  defeated  by  the  Canadians  and  Ind 
ians  and  lost  nigh  all  his  private  men,  only  escap 
ing  himself  by  a  miracle.  We  mourned  the  loss 
of  many  friends  who  were  our  comrades,  though 
it  was  not  the  fault  of  any  one,  since  the  Enemy 
had  three  times  the  number  of  the  Rangers  and 
hemmed  them  in.  Some  of  the  Rangers  had  sur 
rendered  under  promise  of  Quarter,  but  we  after 
wards  heard  that  they  were  tied  to  trees  and 
hacked  to  death  because  the  Indians  had  found 
a  scalp  in  the  breast  of  a  man's  hunting  frock, 
thus  showing  that  we  could  never  expect  such 
bloody  minded  villiains  to  keep  their  promises  of 
Quarter. 

I  was  on  several  scouts  against  them  that  winter 
but  encountered  nothing  worthy  to  relate  except 
ing  the  hardships  which  fell  to  a  Ranger's  lot.  In 

107 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

June  the  Army  having  been  gathered  we  proceeded 
under  Abercromby  up  the  Lake  to  attack  Ticon- 
deroga.  I  thought  at  the  time  that  so  many  men 
must  be  invincible,  but  since  the  last  war  I  have 
been  taught  to  know  different.  There  were  more 
Highlanders,  Grenadiers,  Provincial  troops,  Artil 
lery  and  Rangers  than  the  eye  could  compass,  for 
the  Lake  was  black  with  their  battoes.  This  con 
course  proceeded  to  Ticondaroga  where  we  had  a 
great  battle  and  lost  many  men,  but  to  no  avail 
since  we  were  forced  to  return. 

The  British  soldiers  were  by  this  time  made 
servicible  for  forest  warfare,  since  the  officers  and 
men  had  been  forced  to  rid  themselvs  of  their 
useless  incumbrances  and  had  cut  off  the  tails  of 
their  long  coats  till  they  scarcely  reached  below 
thir  middles — they  had  also  left  the  women  at  the 
Fort,  browned  thir  gun  barrells  and  carried  thir 
provisions  on  their  backs,  each  man  enough  for 
himself,  as  was  our  Ranger  custom.  The  army 
was  landed  at  the  foot  of  the  Lake,  where  the 
Rangers  quickly  drove  off  such  small  bodies  of 
Frenchers  and  Indians  as  opposed  us,  and  we 
began  our  march  by  the  rapids.  Rogers  men 
cleared  the  way  and  had  a  most  desperate  fight 
with  some  French  who  were  minded  to  stop  us, 
but  we  shortly  killed  and  captured  most  of  them. 
We  again  fell  in  with  them  that  afternoon  and 

1 08 


JOSHUA   GOODENOUGH'S   OLD  LETTER 

were  challenged  Qui  vive  but  answered  that  we 
were  French,  but  they  were  not  deceived  and  fired 
upon  us,  after  which  a  hot  skirmish  insued  during 
which  Lord  Howe  was  shot  through  the  breast, 
for  which  we  were  all  much  depressed,  because 
he  was  our  real  leader  and  had  raised  great  hopes 
of  success  for  us.  The  Rangers  had  liked  him 
because  he  was  wont  to  spend  much  time  talking 
with  them  in  thir  camps  and  used  also  to  go  on 
scouts.  The  Rangers  were  not  over  fond  of  British 
officers  in  general. 

When  the  time  had  come  for  battle  we  Rangers 
moved  forward,  accompanied  by  the  armed  boat 
men  and  the  Provincial  troops.  We  drove  in  the 
French  pickets  and  came  into  the  open  where 
the  trees  were  felled  tops  toward  us  in  a  mighty 
abbatis,  as  thiough  blown  down  by  the  wind.  It 
was  all  we  could  undertake  to  make  our  way 
through  the  mass,  and  all  the  while  the  great 
breast-works  of  the  French  belched  cannon  and 
musket  balls  while  the  limbs  and  splinters  flew 
around  us.  Then  out  of  the  woods  behind  us  is 
sued  the  heavy  red  masses  of  the  British  troops  ad 
vancing  in  battle  array  with  purpose  to  storm  with 
the  bayonet.  The  maze  of  fallen  trees  with  their 
withered  leaves  hanging  broke  their  ranks,  and 
the  French  Retrenchment  blazed  fire  and  death. 
They  advanced  bravely  up  but  all  to  no  good 

109 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

purpose,  and  hundreds  there  met  their  death.  My 
dear  Joseph  I  have  the  will  but  not  the  way  to  tell 
you  all  I  saw  that  awful  afternoon.  I  have  since 
been  in  many  battles  and  skirmishes,  but  I  never 
have  witnessed  such  slaughter  and  such  wild  fight 
ing  as  the  British  storm  of  Ticondaroga.  We 
became  mixed  up — Highlanders,  Grenadiers,  Light 
Troops,  Rangers  and  all,  and  we  beat  against  that 
mass  of  logs  and  maze  of  fallend  timber  and  we 
beat  in  vain.  I  was  once  carried  right  up  to  the 
breastwork,  but  we  were  stopped  by  the  bristling 
mass  of  sharpened  branches,  while  the  French  fire 
swept  us  front  and  flank.  The  ground  was  covered 
deep  with  dying  men,  and  as  I  think  it  over  now 
I  can  remember  nothing  but  the  fruit  bourne  by 
the  tree  of  war,  for  I  looked  upon  so  many  won- 
derous  things  that  July  day  that  I  could  not  set 
them  downe  at  all.  We  drew  off  after  seeing 
that  human  valor  could  not  take  that  work.  We 
Rangers  then  skirmished  with  the  French  colony 
troops  and  the  Canada  indians  until  dark  while 
our  people  rescued  the  wounded,  and  then  we  fell 
back.  The  Army  was  utterly  demoralized  and 
made  a  headlong  retreat,  during  which  many 
wounded  men  were  left  to  die  in  the  woods. 
Shanks  and  I  paddled  a  light  bark  canoe  down 
the  Lake  next  day,  in  the  bottom  of  which  lay  a 
wounded  British  officer  attended  by  his  servant. 


JOSHUA  GOODENOUGH'S   OLD   LETTER 

I  took  my  discharge,  and  lived  until  the  follow 
ing  Spring  with  Vrooman  at  German  Flats,  when 
I  had  a  desire  to  go  again  to  the  more  active  ser 
vice  of  the  Rangers,  for  living  in  camps  and  scout 
ing,  notwithstanding  its  dangers,  was  agreeable  to 
my  taste  in  those  days.  So  back  to  Albany  I 
started,  and  there  met  Major  Rogers,  whom  I 
acquainted  with  my  desire  to  again  join  his  service, 
whereat  he  seemed  right  glad  to  put  me  downe. 
I  accordingly  journeyed  to  Crown  Point,  where  I 
went  into  camp.  I  had  bought  me  a  new  fire-lock 
at  Albany  which  was  provided  with  a  bayonet.  It 
was  short,  as  is  best  fitted  for  the  bush,  and  about 
45  balls  to  the  pound.  I  had  shot  it  ten  times  on 
trial  and  it  had  not  failed  to  discharge  at  each  pull. 
There  was  a  great  change  in  the  private  men  of 
the  Rangers,  so  many  old  ones  had  been  frost 
bitten  and  gone  home.  I  found  my  friend  Shanks, 
who  had  staid  though  he  had  been  badly  frosted 
during  the  winter.  He  had  such  a  hate  of  the 
Frenchers  and  particularly  of  the  Canada  Indians 
that  he  would  never  cease  to  fight  them,  they 
having  killed  all  his  relatives  in  New  Hampshire 
which  made  him  titter  against  them,  he  always 
saying  that  they  might  as  well  kill  him  and  thus 
make  an  end  of  the  family. 

In  June  I  went  north  down  Champlain  with 
250  Rangers  and  Light  Infantry  in  sloop-vessels. 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

The  Rangers  were  ....  (writing  lost)  ....  but  it 
made  no  difference.  The  party  was  landed  on  the 
west  side  of  the  Lake  near  Isle  au  Noix  and  lay 
five  days  in  the  bush,  it  raining  hard  all  the  time. 
I  was  out  with  a  recoinnoitering  party  to  watch 
the  Isle,  and  very  early  in  the  morning  we  saw  the 
French  coming  to  our  side  in  boats,  whereat  we 
acquainted  Major  Rogers  that  the  French  were 
about  to  attack  us.  We  were  drawn  up  in  line  to 
await  their  coming.  The  forest  always  concealed 
a  Ranger  line,  so  that  there  might  not  have  been  a 
man  within  a  hundred  miles  for  all  that  could  be 
seen,  and  so  it  was  that  an  advance  party  of  the 
Enemy  walked  into  our  line  and  were  captured, 
which  first  appraised  the  French  of  our  position. 
They  shortly  attacked  us  on  our  left,  but  I  was 
sent  with  a  party  to  make  our  way  through  a 
swamp  in  order  to  attack  their  rear.  This  we 
accomplished  so  quietly  that  we  surprized  some 
Canada  indians  who  were  lying  back  of  the  French 
line  listening  to  a  prophet  who  was  incanting. 
These  we  slew,  and  after  our  firing  many  French 
grenadiers  came  running  past,  when  they  broke 
before  our  line.  I  took  a  Frenchman  prisoner, 
but  he  kept  his  bayonet  pointed  at  me,  all  the  time 
yelling  in  French  which  I  did  not  understand, 
though  I  had  my  loaded  gun  pointed  at  him.  He 
seemed  to  be  disturbed  at  the  sight  of  a  scalp 

112 


JOSHUA  GOODENOUGH'S   OLD   LETTER 

which  I  had  hanging  in  my  belt.  I  had  lately 
took  it  from  the  head  of  an  Indian,  it  being  my 
first,  but  I  was  not  minded  to  kill  the  poor  French 
man  and  was  saying  so  in  English.  He  put  down 
his  fire-lock  finally  and  offered  me  his  flask  to 
drink  liquor  with  him,  but  I  did  not  use  it.  I  had 
known  that  Shanks  carried  poisoned  liquor  in  his 
pack,  with  the  hope  that  it  would  destroy  any 
Indians  who  might  come  into  possession  of  it,  if 
he  was  taken,  whether  alive  or  dead.  As  I  was 
escorting  the  Frenchman  back  to  our  boats  he 
quickly  ran  away  from  me,  though  I  snapped  my 
fire-lock  at  him,  which  failed  to  explode,  it  having 
become  wet  from  the  rain.  Afterwards  I  heard 
that  a  Ranger  had  shot  him,  seeing  him  running 
in  the  bush. 

We  went  back  to  our  boats  after  this  victory 
and  took  all  our  wounded  and  dead  with  us,  which 
last  we  buried  on  an  island.  Being  joined  by  a 
party  of  Stockbridge  Indians  we  were  again  land 
ed,  and  after  marching  for  some  days  came  to 
a  road  where  we  recoinnoitered  St.  John's  Fort 
but  did  not  attack  it,  Rogers  judging  it  not  to  be 
takeable  with  our  force.  From  here  we  began  to 
march  so  fast  that  only  the  strongest  men  could 
keep  up,  and  at  day-break  came  to  another  Fort 
We  ran  into  the  gate  while  a  hay -waggon  was 
passing  through,  and  surprised  and  captured  all 
H  113 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

the  garrison,  men  women  and  children.  After  we 
had  burned  and  destroyed  everything  we  turned 
the  women  and  children  adrift,  but  drove  the  men 
along  as  prisoners,  making  them  carry  our  packs, 
We  marched  so  fast  that  the  French  grenadiers 
could  not  keep  up,  for  their  breeches  were  too 
tight  for  them  to  march  with  ease,  whereat  we  cut 
off  the  legs  of  them  with  our  knives,  when  they 
did  better. 

After  this  expedition  we  scouted  from  Crown 
Point  in  canoes,  Shanks  and  myself  going  as  far 
north  as  we  dared  toward  Isle  au  Noix,  and  one 
day  while  lying  on  the  bank  we  saw  the  army 
coming.  It  was  an  awsome  sight  to  see  so  many 
boats  filled  with  brave  uniforms,  as  they  danced 
over  the  waves.  The  Rangers  and  Indians  came 
a  half  a  mile  ahead  of  the  Army  in  whale-boats  all 
in  line  abreast,  while  behind  them  came  the  light 
Infantry  and  Grenadiers  with  Provincial  troops  on 
the  flanks  and  Artillery  and  Store  boats  bringing 
up  the  Rear. 

Shanks  and  I  fell  in  with  the  Ranger  boats, 
being  yet  in  our  small  bark  and  much  hurled 
about  by  the  waves,  which  rolled  prodigious. 

The  Army  continued  up  the  Lake  and  drove 
the  Frenchers  out  of  their  Forts,  they  not  stop 
ping  to  resist  us  till  we  got  to  Chamblee,  where 
we  staid.  But  the  French  in  Canada  had  all 

114 


JOSHUA   GOODENOUGH'S   OLD   LETTER 

surrendered  to  the  British  and  the  war  was  over. 
This  ended  my  service  as  a  Ranger  in  those  parts. 
I  went  back  to  Vroomans  intending  to  go  again 
into  the  indian  trade,  for  now  we  hoped  that  the 
French  would  no  longer  be  able  to  stop  our  en 
terprises. 

Now  my  dear  son — I  will  send  you  this  long 
letter,  and  will  go  on  writing  of  my  later  life  in 
the  Western  country  and  in  the  War  of  Inde 
pendence,  and  will  send  you  those  letters  as  soon 
as  I  have  them  written.  I  did  not  do  much  or 
occupy  a  commanding  position,  but  I  served 
faithfully  in  what  I  had  to  do.  For  the  present 
God  bless  you  my  dear  son. 

JOSHUA  GOODENOUGH. 


CRACKER     COWBOYS    OF 
FLORIDA 


ONE  can  thresh  the  straw  of  history  until  he  is 
well  worn  out,  and  also  is  running  some  risk  of 
wearing  others  out  who  may  have  to  listen,  so  I 
will  waive  the  telling  of  who  the  first  cowboy  was, 
even  if  I  knew ;  but  the  last  one  who  has  come 
under  my  observation  lives  down  in  Florida,  and 
the  way  it  happened  was  this :  I  was  sitting  in  a 
"  sto'  do',''  as  the  "  Crackers  "  say,  waiting  for  the 
clerk  to  load  some  "number  eights,"  when  my 
friend  said,  "  Look  at  the  cowboys !"  This  im 
mediately  caught  my  interest.  With  me  cow 
boys  are  what  gems  and  porcelains  are  to  some 
others.  Two  very  emaciated  Texas  ponies  pat 
tered  down  the  street,  bearing  wild  -  looking  in 
dividuals,  whose  hanging  hair  and  drooping  hats 
and  generally  bedraggled  appearance  would  re 
mind  you  at  once  of  the  Spanish  -  moss  which 
hangs  so  quietly  and  helplessly  to  the  limbs  of 

116 


CRACKER   COWBOYS    OF   FLORIDA 

the  oaks  out  in  the  swamps.  There  was  none  of 
the  bilious  fierceness  and  rearing  plunge  which  I 
had  associated  with  my  friends  out  West,  but  as  a 
fox-terrier  is  to  a  yellow  cur,  so  were  these  last. 
They  had  on  about  four  dollars'  worth  of  clothes 
between  them,  and  rode  McClellan  saddles,  with 
saddle-bags,  and  guns  tied  on  before.  The  only 
things  they  did  which  were  conventional  were  to 
tie  their  ponies  up  by  the  head  in  brutal  disre 
gard,  and  then  get  drunk  in  about  fifteen  min 
utes.  I  could  see  that  in  this  case,  while  some  of 
the  tail  feathers  were  the  same,  they  would  easily 
classify  as  new  birds. 

"  And  so  you  have  cowboys  down  here  ?"  I  said 
to  the  man  who  ran  the  meat-market. 

He  picked  a  tiny  piece  of  raw  liver  out  of  the 
meshes  of  his  long  black  beard,  tilted  his  big 
black  hat,  shoved  his  arms  into  his  white  apron 
front,  and  said : 

"  Gawd  !  yes,  stranger ;  I  was  one  myself." 

The  plot  thickened  so  fast  that  I  was  losing 
much,  so  I  became  more  deliberate.  "  Do  the 
boys  come  into  town  often  ?"  I  inquired  fur 
ther. 

"  Oh  yes,  'mos'  every  little  spell,"  replied  the 
butcher,  as  he  reached  behind  his  weighing-scales 
and  picked  up  a  double-barrelled  shot-gun,  sawed 
off.  "We-uns  are  expectin'  of  they-uns  to-day." 

117 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

And  he  broke  the  barrels  and  took  out  the  shells 
to  examine  them. 

"  Do  they  come  shooting  ?"  I  interposed. 

He  shut  the  gun  with  a  snap.  "  We  split  even, 
stranger." 

Seeing  that  the  butcher  was  a  fragile  piece  of 
bric-a-brac,  and  that  I  might  need  him  for  future 
study,  I  bethought  me  of  the  banker  down  the 
street.  Bankers  are  bound  to  be  broad  -  gauged, 
intelligent,  and  conservative,  so  I  would  go  to  him 
and  get  at  the  ancient  history  of  this  neck  of 
woods.  I  introduced  myself,  and  was  invited  be 
hind  the  counter.  The  look  of  things  reminded 
me  of  one  of  those  great  green  terraces  which 
conceal  fortifications  and  ugly  cannon.  It  was 
boards  and  wire  screen  in  front,  but  behind  it 
were  shot  -  guns  and  six  -  shooters  hung  in  the 
handiest  way,  on  a  sort  of  disappearing  gun-car 
riage  arrangement.  Shortly  one  of  the  cowboys 
of  the  street  scene  floundered  in.  He  was  two- 
thirds  drunk,  with  brutal,  shifty  eyes  and  a  flabby 
lower  lip. 

"  I  want  twenty  dollars  on  the  old  man.  Ken  I 
have  it?" 

I  rather  expected  that  the  bank  would  go  into 
"  action  front,"  but  the  clerk  said,  "  Certainly,"  and 
completed  this  rather  odd  financial  transaction, 
whereat  the  bull-hunter  stumbled  out. 

i  id 


A   CRACKER   COWBOY 


CRACKER   COWBOYS   OF   FLORIDA 

"  Who  is  the  old  man  in  this  case  ?"  I  ventured. 

"  Oh,  it's  his  boss,  old  Colonel  Zuigg,  of  Crow 
City.  I  gave  some  money  to  some  of  his  boys 
some  weeks  ago,  and  when  the  colonel  was  down 
here  I  asked  him  if  he  wanted  the  boys  to  draw 
against  him  in  that  way,  and  he  said,  '  Yes — for  a 
small  amount ;  they  will  steal  a  cow  or  two,  and 
pay  me  that  way." 

Here  was  something  tangible. 

"  What  happens  when  a  man  steals  another 
man's  brand  in  this  country  ?" 

"  He  mustn't  get  caught ;  that's  all.  They  all 
do  it,  but  they  never  bring  their  troubles  into 
court.  They  just  shoot  it  out  there  in  the  bresh. 
The  last  time  old  Colonel  Zuigg  brought  Zorn 
Zuidden  in  here  and  had  him  indicted  for  steal 
ing  cattle,  said  Zorn :  *  Now  see  here,  old  man 
Zuigg,  what  do  you  want  for  to  go  and  git  me 
arrested  fer?  I  have  stole  thousands  of  cattle 
and  put  your  mark  and  brand  on  'em,  and  jes  be 
cause  I  have  stole  a  couple  of  hundred  from  you, 
you  go  and  have  me  indicted.  You  jes  better  go 
and  get  that  whole  deal  nol  prossed ;'  and  it  was 
done." 

The  argument  was  perfect. 

"  From  that  I  should  imagine  that  the  cow- 
people  have  no  more  idea  of  law  than  the  *  gray 
apes,'"  I  commented. 

119 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

"  Yes,  that's  about  it.  Old  Colonel  Zuigg  was  a 
judge  fer  a  spell,  till  some  feller  filled  him  with 
buckshot,  and  he  had  to  resign ;  and  I  remember 
he  decided  a  case  aginst  me  once.  I  was  hot 
about  it,  and  the  old  colonel  he  saw  I  was.  Says 
he,  *  Now  yer  mad,  ain't  you  ?'  And  I  allowed  I 
was.  '  Well,*  says  he,  *  you  hain't  got  no  call  to 
get  mad.  I  have  decided  the  last  eight  cases  in 
yer  favor,  and  you  kain't  have  it  go  yer  way  all 
the  time ;  it  wouldn't  look  right ;'  and  I  had  to 
be  satisfied." 

The  courts  in  that  locality  were  but  the  faint 
and  sickly  flame  of  a  taper  offered  ?*•  4l  e  shrine 
of  a  justice  which  was  traditional  only,  it  seemed. 
Moral  forces  having  ceased  to  operate,  the  large 
owners  began  to  brand  everything  in  sight,  never 
realizing  that  they  were  sowing  the  wind.  This 
action  naturally  demoralized  the  cowboys,  who 
shortly  began  to  brand  a  little  on  their  own  ac 
count — and  then  the  deluge.  The  rights  of  prop 
erty  having  been  destroyed,  the  large  owners  put 
strong  outfits  in  the  field,  composed  of  desperate 
men  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  what  happens  in  the 
lonely  pine  woods  no  one  knows  but  the  despe 
radoes  themselves,  albeit  some  of  them  never  come 
back  to  the  little  fringe  of  settlements.  The  win 
ter  visitor  from  the  North  kicks  up  the  jack-snipe 
along  the  beach  or  tarponizes  in  the  estuaries  of 

120 


CRACKER    COWBOYS    OF   FLORIDA 

the  Gulf,  and  when  he  comes  to  the  hotel  for  din- 
ner  he  eats  Chicago  dressed  beef,  but  out  in  the 
wilderness  low-browed  cow-folks  shoot  and  stab 
each  other  for  the  possession  of  scrawny  creatures 
not  fit  for  a  pointer-dog  to  mess  on.  One  cannot 
but  feel  the  force  of  Buckle's  law  of  "  the  physical 
aspects  of  nature  "  in  this  sad  country.  Flat  and 
sandy,  with  miles  on  miles  of  straight  pine  timber, 
each  tree  an  exact  duplicate  of  its  neighbor  tree, 
and  underneath  the  scrub  palmettoes,  the  twisted 
brakes  and  hammocks,  and  the  gnarled  water-oaks 
festooned  with  the  sad  gray  Spanish-moss — truly 
not  a  country  for  a  high-spirited  race  or  moral 
giants. 

The  land  gives  only  a  tough  wiregrass,  and  the 
poor  little  cattle,  no  bigger  than  a  donkey,  wander 
half  starved  and  horribly  emaciated  in  search  of 
it.  There  used  to  be  a  trade  with  Cuba,  but  now 
that  has  gone ;  and  beyond  the  supplying  of  Key 
West  and  the  small  fringe  of  settlements  they 
have  no  market.  How  well  the  cowboys  serve 
their  masters  I  can  only  guess,  since  the  big 
owners  do  not  dare  go  into  the  woods,  or  even  to 
their  own  doors  at  night,  and  they  do  not  keep 
a  light  burning  in  the  houses.  One,  indeed,  at 
tempted  to  assert  his  rights,  but  some  one  pump 
ed  sixteen  buckshot  into  him  as  he  bent  over  a 
spring  to  drink,  and  he  left  the  country.  They 

121 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

do  tell  of  a  late  encounter  between  two  rival  fore 
men,  who  rode  on  to  each  other  in  the  woods,  and 
drawing,  fired,  and  both  were  found  stretched 
dying  under  the  palmettoes,  one  calling  delirious 
ly  the  name  of  his  boss.  The  unknown  reaches 
of  the  Everglades  lie  just  below,  and  with  a  half- 
hour's  start  a  man  who  knew  the  country  would 
be  safe  from  pursuit,  even  if  it  were  attempted; 
and,  as  one  man  cheerfully  confided  to  me,  "  A 
boat  don't  leave  no  trail,  stranger." 

That  might  makes  right,  and  that  they  steal  by 
wholesale,  any  cattle-hunter  will  admit;  and  why 
they  brand  at  all  I  cannot  see,  since  one  boy  tried 
to  make  it  plain  to  me,  as  he  shifted  his  body  in 
drunken  abandon  and  grabbed  my  pencil  and  a 
sheet  of  wrapping  paper :  "  See  yer ;  ye  see  that  ?" 
And  he  drew  a  circle  O,  and  then  another  ring 

around  it,  thus:  \Q).  "  That  brand  ain't  no  good. 
Well,  then — "  And  again  his  knotted  and  dirty 
fingers  essayed  the  brand  I  Q.  He  laboriously 

drew  upon  it  and  made   (j(j   which  of  course 

destroyed  the  former  brand. 

"Then  here,"  he  continued,  as  he  drew  13,  "all 
ye've  got  ter  do  is  this — 313."  I  gasped  in  amaze 
ment,  not  at  his  cleverness  as  a  brand-destroyer, 
but  at  his  honest  abandon.  With  a  horrible  op- 

122 


CRACKER   COWBOYS   OF   FLORIDA 

eratic  laugh,  such  as  is  painted  in  "  The  Cossack's 
Answer,"  he  again  laboriously  drew  ©  (the  circle 
cross),  and  then  added  some  marks  which  made  it 
look  like  this  :  *A*.  And  again  breaking  into  his 

devil's  "  ha,  ha !"  said,  "  Make  the  damned  thing 
whirl" 

I  did  not  protest.  He  would  have  shot  me  for 
that.  But  I  did  wish  he  was  living  in  the  north 
west  quarter  of  New  Mexico,  where  Mr.  Cooper 
and  Dan  could  throw  their  eyes  over  the  trail  of 
his  pony.  Of  course  each  man  has  adjusted  him 
self  to  this  lawless  rustling,  and  only  calculates 
that  he  can  steal  as  much  as  his  opponent.  It  is 
rarely  that  their  affairs  are  brought  to  court,  but 
when  they  are,  the  men  come  en  masse  to  the 
room,  armed  with  knives  and  rifles,  so  that  any 
decision  is  bound  to  be  a  compromise,  or  it  will 
bring  on  a  general  engagement. 

There  is  also  a  noticeable  absence  of  negroes 
among  them,  as  they  still  retain  some  ante  bellum 
theories,  and  it  is  only  very  lately  that  they  have 
"  reconstructed."  Their  general  ignorance  is 
"  miraculous,"  and  quite  mystifying  to  an  outside 
man.  Some  whom  I  met  did  not  even  know 
where  the  Texas  was  which  furnishes  them  their 
ponies.  The  railroads  of  Florida  have  had  their 
ups  and  downs  with  them  in  a  petty  way  on  ac- 

123 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

count  of  the  running  over  of  their  cattle  by  the 
trains ;  and  then  some  long  -  haired  old  Cracker 
drops  into  the  nearest  station  with  his  gun  and 
pistol,  and  wants  the  telegraph  operator  to  settle 
immediately  on  the  basis  of  the  Cracker's  claim 
for  damages,  which  is  always  absurdly  high.  At 
first  the  railroads  demurred,  but  the  cowboys  lined 
up  in  the  "  bresh  "  on  some  dark  night  and  pump 
ed  Winchesters  into  the  train  in  a  highly  pict 
uresque  way.  The  trainmen  at  once  recognized 
the  force  of  the  Cracker's  views  on  cattle-killing, 
but  it  took  some  considerable  "  potting  "  at  the 
more  conservative  superintendents  before  the  lat 
ter  could  bestir  themselves  and  invent  a  "  cow-at 
torney,"  as  the  company  adjuster  is  called,  who 
now  settles  with  the  bushmen  as  best  he  can. 
Certainly  no  worse  people  ever  lived  since  the  big 
killing  up  Muscleshell  way,  and  the  romance  is 
taken  out  of  it  by  the  cowardly  assassination 
which  is  the  practice.  They  are  well  paid  for 
their  desperate  work,  and  always  eat  fresh  beef 
or  "  razor-backs,"  and  deer  which  they  kill  in  the 
woods.  The  heat,  the  poor  grass,  their  brutality, 
and  the  pest  of  the  flies  kill  their  ponies,  and,  as  a 
rule,  they  lack  dash  and  are  indifferent  riders,  but 
they  are  picturesque  in  their  unkempt,  almost  un 
earthly  wildness.  A  strange  effect  is  added  by 
their  use  of  large,  fierce  cur- dogs,  one  of  which 

124 


1 


CRACKER   COWBOYS   OF   FLORIDA 

accompanies  each  cattle-hunter,  and  is  taught  to 
pursue  cattle,  and  to  even  take  them  by  the  nose, 
which  is  another  instance  of  their  brutality.  Still, 
as  they  only  have  a  couple  of  horses  apiece,  it 
saves  them  much  extra  running.  These  men  do 
not  use  the  rope,  unless  to  noose  a  pony  in  a  cor 
ral,  but  work  their  cattle  in  strong  log  corrals, 
which  are  made  at  about  a  day's  march  apart  all 
through  the  woods.  Indeed,  ropes  are  hardly 
necessary,  since  the  cattle  are  so  small  and  thin 
that  two  men  can  successfully  "  wrestle  "  a  three- 
year-old.  A  man  goes  into  the  corral,  grabs  a 
cow  by  one  horn,  and  throwing  his  other  arm 
over  her  back,  waits  until  some  other  man  takes 
her  hind  leg,  whereat  ensues  some  very  entertain 
ing  Graeco-Roman  style. 

When  the  cow  is  successful,  she  finds  her  audi 
ence  of  Cracker  cowboys  sitting  on  the  fence  await 
ing  another  opening,  and  gasping  for  breath.  The 
best  bull  will  not  go  over  three  hundred  pounds, 
while  I  have  seen  a  yearling  at  a  hundred  and  fifty 
— if  you,  O  knights  of  the  riata,  can  imagine  it! 
Still,  it  is  desperate  work.  Some  of  the  men  are 
so  reckless  and  active  that  they  do  not  hesitate  to 
encounter  a  wild  bull  in  the  open.  The  cattle  are 
as  wild  as  deer,  they  race  off  at  scent ;  and  when 
"rounded  up"  many  will  not  drive,  whereupon 
these  are  promptly  shot.  It  frequently  happens 

I2S 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

that  when  the  herd  is  being  driven  quietly  along 
a  bull  will  turn  on  the  drivers,  charging  at  once. 
Then  there  is  a  scamper  and  great  shooting.  The 
bulls  often  become  so  maddened  in  these  forays 
that  they  drop  and  die  in  their  tracks,  for  which 
strange  fact  no  one  can  account,  but  as  a  rule  they 
are  too  scrawny  and  mean  to  make  their  handling 
difficult 

So  this  is  the  Cracker  cowboy,  whose  chief  in 
terest  would  be  found  in  the  tales  of  some  bush 
whacking  enterprise,  which  I  very  much  fear  would 
be  a  one-sided  story,  and  not  worth  the  telling. 
At  best  they  must  be  revolting,  having  no  note  of 
the  savage  encounters  which  used  to  characterize 
the  easy  days  in  West  Texas  and  New  Mexico, 
when  every  man  tossed  his  life  away  to  the  crackle 
of  his  own  revolver.  The  moon  shows  pale  through 
the  leafy  canopy  on  their  evening  fires,  and  the 
mists,  the  miasma,  and  the  mosquitoes  settle  over 
their  dreary  camp  talk.  In  place  of  the  wild  stam 
pede,  there  is  only  the  bellowing  in  the  pens,  and 
instead  of  the  plains  shaking  under  the  dusty  air  as 
the  bedizened  vaqueros  plough  their  fiery  broncos 
through  the  milling  herds,  the  cattle-hunter  wends 
his  lonely  way  through  the  ooze  and  rank  grass, 
while  the  dreary  pine  trunks  line  up  and  shut  the 
view. 

/ 1  v 


THE    STRANGE    DAYS    THAT 
CAME    TO   JIMMIE    FRIDAY 


THE  "  Abwee-chemun"  *  Club  was  organized 
with  six  charter  members  at  a  heavy  lunch  in  the 
Savarin  restaurant  —  one  of  those  lunches  which 
make  through  connections  to  dinner  without 
change.  One  member  basely  deserted,  while  two 
more  lost  all  their  enthusiasm  on  the  following 
morning,  but  three  of  us  stuck.  We  vaguely  knew 
that  somewhere  north  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  and 
south  of  Hudson  Bay  were  big  lakes  and  rapid 
rivers  —  lakes  whose  names  we  did  not  know;  lakes 
bigger  than  Champlain,  with  unnamed  rivers  be 
tween  them.  We  did  not  propose  to  be  boated 
around  in  a  big  birch-bark  by  two  voyagers  among 
blankets  and  crackers  and  ham,  but  each  provided 
himself  a  little  thirteen-foot  cedar  canoe,  twenty- 
nine  inches  in  the  beam,  and  weighing  less  than 

*  Algonquin  for  "  paddle  and  canoe." 
127 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

forty  pounds.  I  cannot  tell  you  precisely  how  our 
party  was  sorted,  but  one  was  a  lawyer  with  eye 
glasses  and  settled  habits,  loving  nature,  though 
detesting  canoes;  the  other  was  nominally  a  mer 
chant,  but  in  reality  an  atavic  Norseman  of  the 
wolf  and  raven  kind;  while  I  am  not  new.  To 
gether  we  started. 

Presently  the  Abwees  sat  about  the  board  of  a 
lumbermen's  hotel,  filled  with  house-flies  and  slat 
ternly  waiter-girls,  who  talked  familiarly  while  they 
served  greasy  food.  The  Abwees  were  yet  sore  in 
their  minds  at  the  thoughts  of  the  smelly  beds 
tip-stairs,  and  discouragement  sat  deeply  on  their 
souls.  But  their  time  was  not  yet. 

After  breakfast  they  marched  to  the  Hudson 
Bay  Company's  store,  knowing  as  they  did  that  in 
Canada  there  are  only  two  places  for  a  traveller  to 
go  who  wants  anything — the  great  company  or  the 
parish  priest;  and  then,  having  explained  to  the 
factor  their  dream,  they  were  told  "  that  beyond, 
beyond  some  days'  journey"  —  oh!  that  awful 
beyond,  which  for  centuries  has  stood  across  the 
path  of  the  pioneer,  and  in  these  latter  days  con 
fronts  the  sportsman  and  wilderness-lover — "  that 
beyond  some  days'  journey  to  the  north  was  a 
country  such  as  they  had  dreamed  —  up  Temis- 
camingue  and  beyond." 

The  subject  of  a  guide  was  considered. 

128 


STRANGE  DAYS  THAT  CAME  TO  JIMMIE  FRIDAY 

Jimmie  Friday  always  brought  a  big  toboggan- 
load  of  furs  into  Fort  Tiemogamie  every  spring, 
and  was  accounted  good  in  his  business.  He  and 
his  big  brother  trapped  together,  and  in  turn  fol 
lowed  the  ten  days'  swing  through  the  snow-laden 
forest  which  they  had  covered  with  their  dead-falls 
and  steel-jawed  traps ;  but  when  the  ice  went  out 
in  the  rivers,  and  the  great  pines  dripped  with  the 
melting  snows,  they  had  nothing  more  to  do  but 
cut  a  few  cords  of  wood  for  their  widowed  mother's 
cabin  near  the  post.  Then  the  brother  and  he 
paddled  down  to  Bais  des  Pierres,  where  the  brother 
engaged  as  a  deck  hand  on  a  steamboat,  and  Jimmie 
hired  himself  as  a  guide  for  some  bush-rangers,  as 
the  men  are  called  who  explore  for  pine  lands  for 
the  great  lumber  firms.  Having  worked  all  sum 
mer  and  got  through  with  that  business,  Jimmie 
bethought  him  to  dissipate  for  a  few  days  in  the 
bustling  lumber  town  down  on  the  Ottawa  River. 
He  had  been  there  before  to  feel  the  exhilaration 
of  civilization,  but  beyond  that  clearing  he  had 
never  known  anything  more  inspiring  than  a 
Hudson  Bay  post,  which  is  generally  a  log  store,  a 
house  where  the  agent  lives,  and  a  few  tiny  Indian 
cabins  set  higgledy-piggledy  in  a  sunburnt  gash 
of  stumps  and  bowlders,  lost  in  the  middle  of  the 
solemn,  unresponsive  forest.  On  this  morning  in 
question  he  had  stepped  from  his  friend's  cabin  up 
i  129 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

in  the  Indian  village,  and  after  lighting  a  perfectly 
round  and  rather  yellow  cigar,  he  had  instinctively 
wandered  down  to  the  Hudson  Bay  store,  there  to 
find  himself  amused  by  a  strange  sight. 

The  Abwees  had  hired  two  French-Indian  voy 
agers  of  sinister  mien,  and  a  Scotch-Canadian  boy 
bred  to  the  bush.  They  were  out  on  the  grass, 
engaged  in  taking  burlaps  off  three  highly  polished 
canoes,  while  the  clerk  from  the  store  ran  out  and 
asked  questions  about  "how  much  bacon,"  and, 
"  will  fifty  pounds  of  pork  be  enough,  sir?" 

The  round  yellow  cigar  was  getting  stubby, 
while  Jimmie's  modest  eyes  sought  out  the  points 
of  interest  in  the  new-comers,  when  he  was  sud 
denly  and  sharply  addressed: 

"  Can  you  cook  ?" 

Jimmie  couldn't  do  anything  in  a  hurry,  except 
chop  a  log  in  two,  paddle  very  fast,  and  shoot 
quickly,  so  he  said,  as  was  his  wont: 

"  I  think— I  dun'no'— " 

"  Well,  how  much  ?"  came  the  query. 

"  Two  daul — ars — "  said  Jimmie. 

The  transaction  was  complete.  The  yellow 
butt  went  over  the  fence,  and  Jimmie  shed  his 
coat.  He  was  directed  to  lend  a  hand  by  the 
bustling  sportsmen,  and  requested  to  run  and  find 
things  of  which  he  had  never  before  in  his  life 
heard  the  name. 

130 


STRANGE  DAYS  THAT  CAME  TO  JIMMIE  FRIDAY 

After  two  days'  travel  the  Abwees  were  put 
ashore  —  boxes,  bags,  rolls  of  blankets,  canoes, 
Indians,  and  plunder  of  many  sorts — on  a  pebbly 
beach,  and  the  steamer  backed  off  and  steamed 
away.  They  had  reached  the  "  beyond "  at  last, 
and  the  odoriferous  little  bedrooms,  the  bustle  of 
the  preparation,  the  cares  of  their  lives,  were  be 
hind.  Then  there  was  a  girding  up  of  the  loins, 
a  getting  out  of  tump-lines  and  canvas  packs,  and 
the  long  portage  was  begun. 

The  voyagers  carried  each  two  hundred  pounds 
as  they  stalked  away  into  the  wilderness,  while  the 
attorney-at-law  "  hefted  "  his  pack,  wiped  his  eye 
glasses  with  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and  tried 
cheerfully  to  assume  the  responsibilities  of  "a  dead 
game  sport." 

"  I  cannot  lift  the  thing,  and  how  I  am  going  to 
carry  it  is  more  than  I  know;  but  I'm  a  dead  game 
sport,  and  I  am  going  to  try.  I  do  not  want  to  be 
dead  game,  but  it  looks  as  though  I  couldn't  help  it. 
Will  some  gentleman  help  me  to  adjust  this  cargo?" 

The  night  overtook  the  outfit  in  an  old  beaver 
meadow  half-way  through  the  trail.  Like  all  first 
camps,  it  was  tough.  The  lean-to  tents  went  up 
awkwardly.  No  one  could  find  anything.  Late 
at  night  the  Abwees  lay  on  their  backs  under  the 
blankets,  while  the  fog  settled  over  the  meadow 
and  blotted  out  the  stars. 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

On  the  following  day  the  stuff  was  all  gotten 
through,  and  by  this  time  the  lawyer  had  become 
a  voyager,  willing  to  carry  anything  he  could  stag 
ger  under.  It  is  strange  how  one  can  accustom 
himself  to  "  pack."  He  may  never  use  the  tump- 
line,  since  it  goes  across  the  head,  and  will  unseat 
his  intellect  if  he  does,  but  with  shoulder-straps 
and  a  tump-line  a  man  who  thinks  he  is  not  strong 
will  simply  amaze  himself  inside  of  a  week  by  what 
he  can  do.  As  for  our  little  canoes,  we  could  trot 
with  them.  Each  Abwee  carried  his  own  belong 
ings  and  his  boat,  which  entitled  him  to  the  dis 
tinction  of  "  a  dead  game  sport,"  whatever  that 
may  mean,  while  the  Indians  portaged  their  larger 
canoes  and  our  mass  of  supplies,  making  many 
trips  backward  and  forward  in  the  process. 

At  the  river  everything  was  parcelled  out  and 
arranged.  The  birch -barks  were  repitched,  and 
every  man  found  out  what  he  was  expected  to 
portage  and  do  about  camp.  After  breaking  and 
making  camp  three  times,  the  outfit  could  pack  up, 
load  the  canoes,  and  move  inside  of  fifteen  minutes. 
At  the  first  camp  the  lawyer  essayed  his  canoe, 
and  was  cautioned  that  the  delicate  thing  might 
flirt  with  him.  He  stepped  in  and  sat  gracefully 
down  in  about  two  feet  of  water,  while  the  "delicate 
thing  "  shook  herself  saucily  at  his  side.  After  he 
had  crawled  dripping  ashore  and  wiped  his  eye- 

132 


IT    IS    STRANGE    HOW    ONE   CAN   ACCUSTOM 
HIMSELF   TO   '  PACK  '  " 


STRANGE  DAYS  THAT  CAME  TO  JIMMIE  FRIDAY 

glasses,  he  engaged  to  sell  the  "  delicate  thing  "  to 
an  Indian  for  one  dollar  and  a  half  on  a  promissory 
note.  The  trade  was  suppressed,  and  he  was  urged 
to  try  again.  A  man  who  has  held  down  a  cane- 
bottom  chair  conscientiously  for  fifteen  years  looks 
askance  at  so  fickle  a  thing  as  a  canoe  twenty-nine 
inches  in  the  beam.  They  are  nearly  as  hard  to 
sit  on  in  the  water  as  a  cork;  but  once  one  is  in 
the  bottom  they  are  stable  enough,  though  they 
do  not  submit  to  liberties  or  palsied  movements. 
The  staid  lawyer  was  filled  with  horror  at  the 
prospect  of  another  go  at  his  polished  beauty ;  but 
remembering  his  resolve  to  be  dead  game,  he  aban 
doned  his  life  to  the  chances,  and  got  in  this  time 
safely. 

So  the  Abwees  went  down  the  river  on  a  golden 
morning,  their  double -blade  paddles  flashing  the 
sun  and  sending  the  drip  in  a  shower  on  the  glassy 
water.  The  smoke  from  the  lawyer's  pipe  hung 
behind  him  in  the  quiet  air,  while  the  note  of  the 
reveille  clangored  from  the  little  buglette  of  the 
Norseman.  Jimmie  and  the  big  Scotch  back 
woodsman  swayed  their  bodies  in  one  boat,  while 
the  two  sinister  voyagers  dipped  their  paddles  in 
the  big  canoe. 

The  Norseman's  gorge  came  up,  and  he  yelled 
back :  "  Say !  this  suits  me.  I  am  never  going 
back  to  New  York." 

133 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

Jimmie  grinned  at  the  noise ;  it  made  him  happy. 
Such  a  morning,  such  a  water,  such  a  lack  of  any 
thing  to  disturb  one's  peace !  Let  man's  better 
nature  revel  in  the  beauties  of  existence ;  they 
inflate  his  soul.  The  colors  play  upon  the  senses 
— the  reddish-yellow  of  the  birch-barks,  the  blue 
of  the  water,  and  the  silver  sheen  as  it  parts  at  the 
bows  of  the  canoes ;  the  dark  evergreens,  the  steely 
rocks  with  their  lichens,  the  white  trunks  of  the 
birches,  their  fluffy  tops  so  greeny  green,  and  over 
all  the  gold  of  a  sunny  day.  It  is  my  religion,  this 
thing,  and  I  do  not  know  how  to  tell  all  I  feel 
concerning  it. 

The  rods  were  taken  out,  a  gang  of  flies  put  on 
and  trolled  behind — but  we  have  all  seen  a  man 
fight  a  five-pound  bass  for  twenty  minutes.  The 
waters  fairly  swarmed  with  them,  and  we  could 
always  get  enough  for  the  "  pot "  in  a  half-hour's 
fishing  at  any  time  during  the  trip.  The  Abwees 
were  canoeing,  not  hunting  or  fishing ;  though,  in 
truth,  they  did  not  need  to  hunt  spruce-partridge 
or  fish  for  bass  in  any  sporting  sense ;  they  simply 
went  out  after  them,  and  never  stayed  over  half  an 
hour.  On  a  point  we  stopped  for  lunch :  the 
Scotchman  always  struck  the  beach  a- cooking. 
He  had  a  "kit,"  which  was  a  big  camp-pail,  and 
inside  of  it  were  more  dishes  than  are  to  be  found 
in  some  hotels.  He  broiled  the  bacon,  instead  of 


STRANGE  DAYS  THAT  CAME  TO  JIMMIE  FRIDAY 

frying  it,  and  thus  we  were  saved  the  terrors  of 
indigestion.  He  had  many  luxuries  in  his  com 
missary,  among  them  dried  apples,  with  which  he 
filled  a  camp-pail  one  day  and  put  them  on  to  boil. 
They  subsequently  got  to  be  about  a  foot  deep  all 
over  the  camp,  while  Furguson  stood  around  and 
regarded  the  black-magic  of  the  thing  with  over 
powering  emotions  and  Homeric  tongue.  Fur 
guson  was  a  good  genius,  big  and  gentle,  and  a 
woodsman  root  and  branch.  The  Abwees  had 
intended  their  days  in  the  wilderness  to  be  happy 
singing  flights  of  time,  but  with  grease  and  paste 
in  one's  stomach  what  may  not  befall  the  mind 
when  it  is  bent  on  nature's  doings  ? 

And  thus  it  was  that  the  gloomy  Indian  Jimmie 
Friday,  despite  his  tuberculosis  begotten  of  insuf 
ficient  nourishment,  was  happy  in  these  strange 
days — even  to  the  extent  of  looking  with  wondrous 
eyes  on  the  nooks  which  we  loved — nooks  which 
previously  for  him  had  only  sheltered  possible 
"  dead-falls  "  or  not,  as  the  discerning  eye  of  the 
trapper  decided  the  prospects  for  pelf. 

Going  ashore  on  a  sandy  beach,  Jimmie  wan 
dered  down  its  length,  his  hunter  mind  seeking 
out  the  footprints  of  his  prey.  *He  stooped  down, 
and  then  beckoned  me  to  come,  which  I  did. 

Pointing  at  the  sand,  he  said,  "You  know  him?" 

"  Wolves  "  I  answered. 

'35 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

"Yes — first  time  I  see  'em  up  here — they  be 
follerin'  the  deers — bad — bad.  No  can  trap  'em — 
verrie  smart." 

A  half-dozen  wolves  had  chased  a  deer  into  the 
water;  but  wolves  do  not  take  to  the  water,  so  they 
had  stopped  and  drank,  and  then  gone  rollicking 
together  up  the  beach.  There  were  cubs,  and  one 
great  track  as  big  as  a  mastiff  might  make. 

"See  that — moose  track — he  go  by  yesterday;" 
and  Jimmie  pointed  to  enormous  footprints  in  the 
muck  of  a  marshy  place.  "  Verrie  big  moose — we 
make  call  at  next  camp — think  it  is  early  for  call." 

At  the  next  camp  Jimmie  made  the  usual  birch- 
bark  moose-call,  and  at  evening  blew  it,  as  he  also 
did  on  the  following  morning.  This  camp  was  a 
divine  spot  on  a  rise  back  of  a  long  sandy  beach, 
and  we  concluded  to  stop  for  a  day.  The  Norse 
man  and  I  each  took  a  man  in  our  canoes  and 
started  out  to  explore.  I  wanted  to  observe  some 
musk-rat  hotels  down  in  a  big  marsh,  and  the 
Norseman  was  fishing.  The  attorney  was  content 
to  sit  on  a  log  by  the  shores  of  the  lake,  smoke 
lazily,  and  watch  the  sun  shimmer  through  the 
lifting  fog.  He  saw  a  canoe  approaching  from 
across  the  lake.  He  gazed  vacantly  at  it,  when 
it  grew  strange  and  more  unlike  a  canoe.  The 
paddles  did  not  move,  but  the  phantom  craft  drew 
quickly  on. 

136 


A  REAL  CAMP 


STRANGE  DAYS  THAT  CAME  TO  JIMMIE  FRIDAY 
"Say,  Furguson  —  come    here  —  look    at    that 


canoe." 


The  Scotchman  came  down,  with  a  pail  in  one 
hand,  and  looked.  "  Canoe — hell— it's  a  moose — 
and  there  ain't  a  pocket-pistol  in  this  camp,"  and 
he  fairly  jumped  up  and  down. 

"  You  don't  say — you  really  don't  say !"  gasped 
the  lawyer,  who  now  began  to  exhibit  signs  of 
insanity. 

"  Yes — he's  going  to  be  d d  sociable  with  us 

— he's  coming  right  bang  into  this  camp." 

The  Indian  too  came  down,  but  he  was  long 
past  talking  English,  and  the  gutturals  came  up 
in  lumps,  as  though  he  was  trying  to  keep  them 
down. 

The  moose  finally  struck  a  long  point  of  sand 
and  rushes  about  two  hundred  yards  away,  and 
drew  majestically  out  of  the  water,  his  hide  drip 
ping,  and  the  sun  glistening  on  his  antlers  and 
back. 

The  three  men  gazed  in  spellbound  admiration 
at  the  picture  until  the  moose  was  gone.  When 
they  had  recovered  their  senses  they  slowly  went 
up  to  the  camp  on  the  ridge — disgusted  and  dum- 
founded. 

"  I  could  almost  put  a  cartridge  in  that  old  gun- 
case  and  kill  him,"  sighed  the  backwoodsman. 

"  I  have  never  hunted  in  my  life,"  mused  the 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

attorney,  "  but  few  men  have  seen  such  a  sight," 
and  he  filled  his  pipe. 

"  Hark  —  listen !"  said  the  Indian.  There  was 
a  faint  cracking,  which  presently  became  louder. 
"  He's  coming  into  camp ;"  and  the  Indian  nearly 
died  from  excitement  as  he  grabbed  a  hatchet. 
The  three  unfortunate  men  stepped  to  the  back  of 
the  tents,  and  as  big  a  bull  moose  as  walks  the 
lonely  woods  came  up  to  within  one  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  of  the  camp,  and  stopped,  returning  their 
gaze. 

Thus  they  stood  for  what  they  say  was  a  minute, 
but  which  seemed  like  hours.  The  attorney  com 
posedly  admired  the  unusual  sight.  The  Indian 
and  Furguson  swore  softly  but  most  viciously  until 
the  moose  moved  away.  The  Indian  hurled  the 
hatchet  at  the  retreating  figure,  with  a  final  curse, 
and  the  thing  was  over. 

"  Those  fellows  who  are  out  in  their  canoes  will 
be  sick  abed  when  we  tell  them  what's  been  go 
ing  on  in  the  camp  this  morning,"  sighed  Mr.  Fur 
guson,  as  he  scoured  a  cooking-pot. 

I  fear  we  would  have  had  that  moose  on  our 
consciences  if  we  had  been  there:  the  game  law 
was  not  up  at  the  time,  but  I  should  have  asked 
for  strength  from  a  higher  source  than  my  respect 
for  law. 

The  golden  days  passed  and  the  lake  grew  great. 

138 


ROUGH    WATER 


STRANGE  DAYS  THAT  CAME  TO  JIMMIE  FRIDAY 

The  wind  blew  at  our  backs.  The  waves  rolled 
in  restless  surges,  piling  the  little  canoes  on  their 
crests  and  swallowing  them  in  the  troughs.  The 
canoes  thrashed  the  water  as  they  flew  along,  half 
in,  half  out,  but  they  rode  like  ducks.  The  Abwees 
took  off  their  hats,  gripped  their  double  blades, 
made  the  water  swirl  behind  them,  howled  in  glee 
to  each  other  through  the  rushing  storm.  To  be 
five  miles  from  shore  in  a  seaway  in  kayaks  like 
ours  was  a  sensation.  We  found  they  stood  it 
well,  and  grew  contented.  It  was  the  complement 
to  the  golden  lazy  days  when  the  water  was  glass, 
and  the  canoes  rode  upsidedown  over  its  mirror 
surface.  The  Norseman  grinned  and  shook  his 
head  in  token  of  his  pleasure,  much  as  an  epicure 
might  after  a  sip  of  superior  Burgundy. 

"  How  do  you  fancy  this?"  we  asked  the  attorney- 
at-law. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  deliver  an  opinion  until  I 
get  ashore.  I  would  never  have  believed  that  I 
would  be  here  at  my  time  of  life,  but  one  never 

knows  what  a fool  one  can  make  of  one's  self. 

My  glasses  are  covered  with  water,  and  I  can  hard 
ly  see,  but  I  can't  let  go  of  this  paddle  to  wipe 
them,"  shrieked  the  man  of  the  office  chair,  in  the 
howl  of  the  weather. 

But  we  made  a  long  journey  by  the  aid  of  the 
wind,  and  grew  a  contempt  for  it.  How  could  one 

139 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

imagine  the  stability  of  those  little  boats  until  one 
had  tried  it  ? 

That  night  we  put  into  a  natural  harbor  and 
camped  on  a  gravel  beach.  The  tents  were  up 
and  the  supper  cooking,  when  the  wind  hauled 
and  blew  furiously  into  our  haven.  The  fires  were 
scattered  and  the  rain  came  in  blinding  sheets. 
The  tent-pegs  pulled  from  the  sand.  We  sprang 
to  our  feet  and  held  on  to  the  poles,  wet  to  the 
skin.  It  was  useless ;  the  rain  blew  right  under 
the  canvas.  We  laid  the  tents  on  the  "  grub  "  and 
stepped  out  into  the  dark.  We  could  not  be  any 
wetter,  and  we  did  not  care.  To  stand  in  the  dark 
in  the  wilderness,  with  nothing  to  eat,  and  a  fire- 
engine  playing  a  hose  on  you  for  a  couple  of  hours 
— if  you  have  imagination  enough,  you  can  fill  in 
the  situation.  But  the  gods  were  propitious.  The 
wind  died  down.  The  stars  came  out  by  myriads. 
The  fires  were  relighted,  and  the  ordinary  life 
begun.  It  was  late  in  the  night  before  our  clothes, 
blankets,  and  tents  were  dry,  but,  like  boys,  we 
forgot  it  all. 

Then  came  a  river — blue  and  flat  like  the  sky 
above — running  through  rushy  banks,  backed  by 
the  masses  of  the  forest ;  anon  the  waters  rushed 
upon  us  over  the  rocks,  and  we  fought,  plunk- 
plunk-plunk,  with  the  paddles,  until  our  strength 
gave  out.  We  stepped  out  into  the  water,  and 

140 


STRANGE  DAYS  THAT  CAME  TO  JIMMIE  FRIDAY 

getting  our  lines,  and  using  our  long  double  blades 
as  fenders,  "  tracked  "  the  canoes  up  through  the 
boil.  The  Indians  in  their  heavier  boats  used 
"  setting-poles  "  with  marvellous  dexterity,  and  by 
furious  exertion  were  able  to  draw  steadily  up  the 
grade — though  at  times  they  too  "  tracked,"  and 
even  portaged.  Our  largest  canoe  weighed  two 
hundred  pounds,  but  a  little  voyager  managed  to 
lug  it,  though  how  I  couldn't  comprehend,  since 
his  pipe-stem  legs  fairly  bent  and  wobbled  under 
the  enormous  ark.  None  of  us  by  this  time  were 
able  to  lift  the  loads  which  we  carried,  but,  like  a 
Western  pack-mule,  we  stood  about  and  had  things 
piled  on  to  us,  until  nothing  more  would  stick. 
Some  of  the  backwoodsmen  carry  incredible  masses 
of  stuff,  and  their  lore  is  full  of  tales  which  no  one 
could  be  expected  to  believe.  Our  men  did  not 
hesitate  to  take  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
over  short  portages,  which  were  very  rough  and 
stony,  though  they  all  said  if  they  slipped  they 
expected  to  break  a  leg.  This  is  largely  due  to 
the  tump-line,  which  is  laid  over  the  head,  while 
persons  unused  to  it  must  have  shoulder-straps 
in  addition,  which  are  not  as  good,  because  the 
"  breastbone,"  so  called,  is  not  strong  enough. 

We  were  getting  day  by  day  farther  into  "  the 
beyond."  There  were  no  traces  here  of  the  hand 
of  man.  Only  Jimmie  knew  the  way — it  was  his 

141 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

trapping  -  ground.  Only  once  did  we  encounter 
people.  We  were  blown  into  a  little  board  dock, 
on  a  gray  day,  with  the  waves  piling  up  behind  us, 
and  made  a  difficult  landing.  Here  were  a  few 
tiny  log  houses — an  outpost  of  the  Hudson  Bay 
Company.  We  renewed  our  stock  of  provisions, 
after  laborious  trading  with  the  stagnated  people 
who  live  in  the  lonely  place.  There  was  nothing 
to  sell  us  but  a  few  of  the  most  common  necessi 
ties  ;  however,  we  needed  only  potatoes  and  sugar. 
This  was  Jimmie's  home.  Here  we  saw  his  poor 
old  mother,  who  was  being  tossed  about  in  the 
smallest  of  canoes  as  she  drew  her  nets.  Jimmie's 
father  had  gone  on  a  hunting  expedition  and  had 
never  come  back.  Some  day  Jimmie's  old  mother 
will  go  out  on  the  wild  lake  to  tend  her  nets,  and 
she  will  not  come  back.  Some  time  Jimmie  too 
will  not  return  —  for  this  Indian  struggle  with 
nature  is  appalling  in  its  fierceness. 

There  was  a  dance  at  the  post,  which  the  boys 
attended,  going  by  canoe  at  night,  and  they  came 
back  early  in  the  morning,  with  much  giggling  at 
their  gallantries. 

The  loneliness  of  this  forest  life  is  positively 
discouraging  to  think  about.  What  the  long 
winters  must  be  in  the  little  cabins  I  cannot  im 
agine,  and  I  fear  the  traders  must  be  all  avarice, 
or  have  none  at  all;  for  there  can  certainly  be 

142 


STRANGE  DAYS  THAT  CAME  TO  JIMMIE  FRIDAY 

absolutely  no  intellectual  life.  There  is  undoubt 
edly  work,  but  not  one  single  problem  concerning 
it.  The  Indian  hunters  do  fairly  well  in  a  financial 
way,  though  their  lives  are  beset  with  weakening 
hardships  and  constant  danger.  Their  meagre 
diet  wears  out  their  constitutions,  and  they  are 
subject  to  disease.  The  simplicity  of  their  minds 
makes  it  very  difficult  to  see  into  their  life  as  they 
try  to  narrate  it  to  one  who  may  be  interested. 

From  here  on  was  through  beautiful  little  lakes, 
and  the  voyagers  rigged  blanket  sails  on  the  big 
canoes,  while  we  towed  behind.  Then  came  the 
river  and  the  rapids,  which  we  ran,  darting  between 
rocks,  bumping  on  sunken  stones — shooting  fairly 
out  into  the  air,  all  but  turning  over  hundreds  of 
times.  One  day  the  Abwees  glided  out  in  the  big 
lake  Tesmiaquemang,  and  saw  the  steamer  going 
to  Bais  des  Pierres.  We  hailed  her,  and  she 
stopped,  while  the  little  canoes  danced  about  in 
the  swell  as  we  were  loaded  one  by  one.  On  the 
deck  above  us  the  passengers  admired  a  kind  of 
boat  the  like  of  which  had  not  before  appeared  in 
these  parts. 

At  Bais  des  Pierres  we  handed  over  the  residue 
of  the  commissaries  of  the  Abwee-Chemun  to 
Jimmie  Friday,  including  personally  many  pairs  of 
well-worn  golf -breeches,  sweaters,  rubber  coats, 
knives  which  would  be  proscribed  by  law  in  New 

143 


CROOKED  TRAILS 

York.  If  Jimmie  ever  parades  his  solemn  wilder 
ness  in  these  garbs,  the  owls  will  laugh  from  the 
trees.  Our  simple  forest  friend  laid  in  his  winter 
stock — traps,  flour,  salt,  tobacco,  and  pork,  a  new 
axe — and  accompanied  us  back  down  the  lake 
again  on  the  steamer.  She  stopped  in  mid-stream, 
while  Jimmie  got  his  bundles  into  his  "  bark  "  and 
shoved  off,  amid  a  hail  of  "good-byes." 

The  engine  palpitated,  the  big  wheel  churned 
the  water  astern,  and  we  drew  away.  Jimmie  bent 
on  his  paddle  with  the  quick  body-swing  habitual 
to  the  Indian,  and  after  a  time  grew  a  speck  on  the 
reflection  of  the  red  sunset  in  Temiscamingue. 

The  Abwees  sat  sadly  leaning  on  the  after-rail, 
and  agreed  that  Jimmie  was  "a  lovely  Injun." 
Jimmie  had  gone  into  the  shade  of  the  overhang 
of  the  cliffs,  when  the  Norseman  started  violently 
up,  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  stamped  his  foot, 
said, "  By  George,  fellows,  any  D.  F.  would  call  this 
a  sporting  trip!" 


THE    SOLEDAD   GIRLS 


"  TO-NIGHT  I  am  going  down  to  my  ranch — 
the  Soledad — in  my  private  car,"  said  the  man 
ager  of  the  Mexican  International  Railroad,  "and 
I  would  like  the  Captain  and  you  to  accompany 


me." 


The  Captain  and  I  were  only  too  glad ;  so  in 
process  of  time  we  awoke  to  find  our  car  side 
tracked  on  the  Soledad,  which  is  in  the  state  of 
Coahuila,  Mexico.  The  chaparral  spread  around, 
rising  and  falling  in  the  swell  of  the  land,  until  it 
beat  against  the  blue  ridge  of  the  Sierra  Santa 
Rosa,  miles  to  the  north.  Here  and  there  the 
bright  sun  spotted  on  a  cow  as  she  threaded  the 
gray  stretches ;  a  little  coyote  -  wolf  sat  on  his 
haunches  on  a  near-by  hill-side,  and  howled  pro 
tests  at  his  new-found  companions ;  while  dimly 
through  the  gray  meshes  of  the  leaf -denuded 
chaparral  we  could  see  the  main  ranch-house  of 
the  Soledad.  We  were  informed  at  breakfast  by 
the  railroad  manager  that  there  was  to  be  that  day 
K  145 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

a  "  round-up,"  which  is  to  say,  a  regular  Buffalo 
Bill  Show,  with  real  cowboys,  ponies,  and  cattle, 
all  three  of  them  wild,  full  of  thorns,  and  just  out 
of  the  brush. 

The  negro  porters  got  out  the  saddles  of  the 
young  women,  thus  disclosing  their  intention  to 
ride  ponies  instead  of  in  traps.  We  already  knew 
that  they  were  fearless  horseback-riders,  but  when 
the  string  of  ponies  which  were  to  be  our  mounts 
was  led  up  by  a  few  Mexicans,  the  Captain  and  I 
had  our  well-concealed  doubts  about  their  being 
proper  sort  of  ponies  for  young  girls  to  ride.  We 
confided  in  an  imperturbable  cowboy  —  one  of 
those  dry  Texans.  He  said :  "  Them  are  what  we 
would  call  broke  ponies,  and  you  fellers  needn't 
get  to  worryin'  'bout  them  little  girls — you  Ye  jest 
a-foolin*  away  good  time."  Nevertheless,  the 
broncos  had  the  lurking  devil  in  the  tails  of  their 
eyes  as  they  stood  there  tied  to  the  wire  fencing ; 
they  were  humble  and  dejected  as  only  a  bronco 
or  a  mule  can  simulate.  When  that  ilk  look  most 
cast  down,  be  not  deceived,  gay  brother ;  they  are 
not  like  this.  Their  humility  is  only  humorous, 
and  intended  to  lure  you  on  to  their  backs,  where, 
unless  you  have  a  perfect  understanding  of  the 
game,  the  joke  will  be  on  you.  Instantly  one  is 
mounted,  the  humility  departs;  he  plunges  and 
starts  about,  or  sets  off  like  the  wind,  regardless 

146 


THE    SOLEDAD    GIRLS 

of  thorny  bushes,  tricky  ground  underfoot,  or  the 
seat  of  the  rider. 

The  manager's  wife  came  out  of  the  car  with 
her  little  brood  of  three,  and  then  two  visiting 
friends.  These  Soledad  girls,  as  I  call  them,  each 
had  a  sunburst  of  yellow  hair,  were  well  bronzed 
by  the  Mexican  sun,  and  were  sturdy  little  bodies. 
They  were  dressed  in  short  skirts,  with  leggings, 
topped  with  Tarn  o'  Shanters,  while  about  their 
waists  were  cartridge-belts,  with  delicate  knives  and 
revolvers  attached,  and  with  spurs  and  quirts  as 
accessories.  They  took  up  their  men's  saddles, 
for  they  rode  astride,  except  the  two  visitors,  who 
were  older  and  more  lately  from  Chicago.  They 
swung  their  saddles  on  to  the  ponies,  showing 
familiarity  with  the  ladigo  straps  of  the  Texas 
saddles,  and  proudly  escaping  the  humiliation 
which  alights  on  the  head  of  one  who  in  the  cow- 
camps  cannot  saddle  his  own  "  bronc."  Being 
ready,  we  mounted,  and  followed  a  cowboy  off 
down  the  road  to  the  rodeo-ground.  The  manager 
and  Madam  Mamma  rode  in  a  buckboard,  proudly 
following  with  their  gaze  the  galloping  ponies 
which  bore  their  jewels.  I  thought  they  should 
be  fearful  for  their  safety,  but  after  more  intimate 
inspection,  I  could  see  how  groundless  was  such 
solicitude. 

I  must  have  it  understood  that  these  little 
147 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

vaquero  girls  were  not  the  ordinary  Texas  prod 
uct,  fed  on  corn -meal  and  bred  in  the  chaparral, 
but  the  much  looked  after  darlings  of  a  fond 
mother.  They  are  taken  South  every  winter,  that 
their  bodies  may  be  made  lithe  and  healthy,  but 
at  the  same  time  two  or  more  governesses  crowd 
their  minds  with  French,  German,  and  other 
things  with  which  proper  young  girls  should  be 
acquainted.  But  their  infant  minds  did  not  carry 
back  to  the  days  when  they  had  not  felt  a  horse 
under  them.  To  be  sure,  in  the  beginning  it  was 
only  a  humble  donkey,  but  even  before  they  knew 
they  had  graduated  to  ponies,  and  while  yet  ten 
years  old,  it  was  only  by  a  constant  watch  that 
they  were  kept  off  unbroken  broncos — horses  that 
made  the  toughest  vaqueros  throw  down  their  hats, 
tighten  their  belts,  and  grin  with  fear. 

From  over  the  hills  came  the  half-wild  cattle, 
stringing  along  at  a  trot,  all  bearing  for  the  open 
space  in  the  waste  of  the  chaparral  where  the  rodeo 
occurred,  while  behind  them  followed  the  cowboys 
— gay  desert  figures  with  brown,  pinched  faces, 
long  hair,  and  shouting  wild  cries.  The  exhilara 
tion  of  the  fine  morning,  the  tramp  of  the  thousands, 
got  into  the  curls  of  the  three  little  Misses  Golden- 
hairs,  and  they  scurried  away,  while  I  followed  to 
feast  on  this  fresh  vision,  where  absolutely  ideal 
little  maids  shouted  Spanish  at  murderous-looking 

148 


THE    SOLEDAD    GIRLS 

Mexican  cow-punchers  done  up  in  bright  serapes 
and  costumed  out  of  all  reason.  As  the  vaqueros 
dashed  about  hither  and  thither  to  keep  their 
herds  moving  in  the  appointed  direction,  the  in 
fants  screamed  in  their  childish  treble  and  spurred 
madly  too.  A  bull  stands  at  bay,  but  a  child  dashes 
at  him,  while  he  turns  and  flees.  It  is  not  their 
first  rodeo,  one  can  see,  but  I  should  wish  they 
were  with  mamma  and  the  buckboard,  instead  of 
out  here  in  the  brush,  charging  wild  bulls,  though 
in  truth  this  never  were  written.  These  bulls  fre 
quently  charge  men,  and  a  cow-pony  turns  like  a 
ball  off  a  bat,  and  a  slippery  seat  in  the  saddle  may 
put  you  under  the  feet  of  the  outraged  monarch  of 
the  range. 

Driving  down  to  the  ^<?dfc<?-ground,  we  all  stood 
about  on  our  ponies  and  held  the  herd,  as  it  is 
called,  the  young  girls  doing  vaquero  duty,  as  im 
perturbable  of  mien  as  Mr.  Flannagan,  the  foreman. 
So  many  women  in  the  world  are  afraid  of  a  dairy 
cow,  even  gathering  up  their  skirts  and  preparing 
to  shriek  at  the  sight  of  one  eating  daisies.  But 
these  young  women  will  grow  up  and  they  will  be 
afraid  of  no  cow.  So  much  for  a  Soledad  educa 
tion. 

The  top-ropers  rode  slowly  into  the  dust  of  the 
milling  herd,  scampered  madly,  cast  their  ropes, 
and  came  jumping  to  us  with  a  blatting  calf  trail- 

«49 


CROOKED   TRAILS 

ing  at  their  ropes'  end.  Two  men  seized  the  little 
victim,  threw  him  on  his  back,  cut  a  piece  out  of 
his  ear  with  a  knife,  and  still  held  him  in  relentless 
grip  while  another  pressed  a  red-hot  branding-iron 
on  his  side,  which  sizzled  and  sent  up  blue  smoke, 
together  with  an  odor  of  burned  flesh.  The  calves 
bawled  piteously.  There  was  no  more  emotion  on 
the  faces  of  the  Soledad  girls  than  was  shown  by 
the  brown  cowboys.  They  had  often,  very  often, 
seen  this  before,  and  their  nerves  were  strong. 
Some  day  I  can  picture  in  my  mind's  eye  these 
young  girl  vaqueros  grown  to  womanhood,  and 
being  such  good-looking  creatures,  very  naturally 
some  young  man  will  want  very  badly  to  marry 
one  of  them — for  it  cannot  be  otherwise.  I  only 
hope  he  will  not  be  a  thin-chested,  cigarette-smok 
ing  dude,  because  it  will  be  a  sacrilege  of  nature. 
He  must  undoubtedly  have  played  forward  at 
Princeton  or  Yale,  or  be  unworthy. 

As  we  stood,  a  massive  bull  emerged  from  the 
body  of  the  herd,  his  head  thrown  high,  tail  stiff 
with  anger,  eye  rolling,  and  breath  coming  quick. 
He  trotted  quickly  forward,  and,  lowering  his  head, 
charged  through  the  "punchers."  Instantly  a 
small  Soledad  girl  was  after  him,  the  vaqueros 
reining  back  to  enjoy  the  strange  ride  with  their 
eyes.  Her  hat  flew  off,  and  the  long  curls  flapped 
in  the  rushing  air  as  her  pony  fairly  sailed  over 


THE    SOLEDAD    GIRLS 

the  difficult  ground.  The  bull  tore  furiously,  but 
behind  him  swept  the  pony  and  the  child.  As  we 
watched,  the  chase  had  gone  a  mile  away,  but  little 
Miss  Yellowcurls  drew  gradually  to  the  far  side  of 
the  bull,  quartering  him  on  the  far  side,  and  whirl 
ing  on,  headed  her  quarry  back  to  her  audience 
and  the  herd.  The  rough-and-ready  American 
range  boss  sat  sidewise  in  his  saddle  and  thought 
— for  he  never  talked  unnecessarily,  though  appre 
ciation  was  chalked  all  over  his  pose.  The  man 
ager  and  madam  felt  as  though  they  were  responsi 
ble  for  this  wonderful  thing.  The  Mexican  cow 
boys  snapped  their  fingers  and  eyes  at  one  another, 
shouting  quick  Spanish,  while  the  American  part 
of  the  beholders  agreed  that  it  was  the  "  limit '; 
"that  as  a  picture,"  etc.;  "that  the  American  girl, 
properly  environed  ";  "  that  this  girl  in  particular," 
etc.,  was  a  dream,  Then  the  bull  and  the  girl 
came  home ;  the  bull  to  his  fellows,  and  the  girl 
to  us.  But  she  didn't  have  an  idea  of  our  admira 
tion,  because  we  didn't  tell  her;  that  would  have 
been  wrong,  as  you  can  imagine.  Ten  years  will 
complicate  little  Miss  Yellowcurls.  Then  she 
could  be  vain  about  such  a  thing ;  but,  alas !  she 
will  not  be — she  will  have  forgotten. 


THE   END 


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